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5 Acting Edition, No. 2530, 



lDVERTISEMENT 

A Play in Pour Acts 

BY 
lASIL MACDONALD HASTIN< 




ONE SHILLING NET*' 



V76 



ADVERTISEMENT 




ADVERTISEMENT 

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 



By 



BASIL MACDONALD HASTINGS 



CoprRiQHT, 191 5, BY Samuel French, Limited 



New York | London 

SAMUEL FRENCH | SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd 
Publisher 26 Southampton Street 

28-30 WEST 38TH STREET STRAND 



^^y 



-A' 






7^ t>- 



OTHER PLAYS BY THE AUTHOR OF 
" ADVERTISEMENT." 

IS. net paper. 2s. net cloth. 

THE NEW SIN. 

LOVE — AND WHAT THEN? 

THE TIDE. 




m 20 1915 /^ 

CID 40811 ^^ 



5k 



Dedicatecl to 
John E. Vedrenne and Dennis Eadie 
In gratitude for their sympathy 
and encouragement 



PERSONS CONCERNED 

Luke Sufan. 

Seton Sufan. 

Ellen Sufan. 

Rose Appleyard. 

Randolph Qualtrough, of " The Daily Passenger.' 

WiLLOUGHBY WooDS, of The Woods Billpostmg Co. 

Bert Pym, of Novelty Advertising Co. 

John Hext 

Duncan Mudie 

Elsie Makins. 

Adolf. 

Two Reporters,: 

A Maidservant. 



\ of John Hext &- Co, 



SCENES 

Act I. (Before the War). 

The Music Room, 31a, Arlington Street. 

Act II. (During the War). 

Luke Sufan's City Office. 

Act III. (After the War). 

The Music Room, 31a, Arlington Street. 
(Some years elapse). 

Act IV. On. the Leads of a house in Hampstead. 



8 



CAST 



This Play was first performed under the management of 
'Messrs. Vedrenne and Eadie at the Kingsway Theatre, London, 
on April 15, 1915, with the following cast: — 



Luke Sufan 
Seton Sufan 
Ellen Sufan 
Rose Appleyard 
Randolph Qualtrough 

WiLLOUGHBY WoODS 

Bert Pym 

John Hext 

Duncan Mudie 

Elsie Makins . 

Adolf 

Two Reporters 

Maidservant 



Mr. Sydney Valentine. 
Mr. Alan Fisher. 
Miss Lilian Braithwaiie . 
Miss Ellen O'M alley. 
Mr. Athol Stewart. 
Mr. Paul Arthur. 
Mr. Arthur Chesney. 
Mr. Charles Da ly. 
Mr. Campbell Gullan. 
Miss Violet Graham. 
Mr. Leon M. Lion. 
Mr. Harvey Brahan and 
Mr. Stewart Dawson 
Miss Janet Ross. 



The play was " produced " by Mr. Sydney Valentine, 



The fee for the representation of this play by 
Amateurs is Five Guineas, payable in advance to 

Messrs. Samuel French, Ltd. 

26, Southampton Street, 

Strand, London. 

or their authorized agents, who will issue a written 
permission for the performance to take place. No 
representation may be given unless the written author- 
ity has first been obtained. 

In the event of more than one performance being 
given, the Fee for the second representation is Four 
Guineas and for the third and further representations, 
Three Guineas. But this reduction only applies when 
the performances are Consecutive (evening following 
evening or evening following matinee) at the Same 
Theatre or Hall. 

All costumes, wigs and properties used in the per- 
formance of plays contained in French's Acting 
Edition may be hired or purchased reasonably from 
Messrs. Charles H. Fox, Ltd., 27, Wellington 
Street,.;Strand, London. 



10 



ACT I 

BEFORE THE WAR 

Scene. — The Music Room, 31a, Arlington Street. 

The room is very tastefully panelled some height from 
the floor, the wallpaper above being a deep wedgwood 
blue. The floor is of polished pine and has white 
and bronze blue rugs on it. The only door is in the 
back wall about c. Up left against the back wall is a 
grand piano. To the right of it is the piano stool and 
just below it is a low, backless seat. An oval table 
stands centre. Down extreme left stands a pedestal 
bearing a graceful statue of Pan playing his pipe. 
Right centre above fireplace there is a large settee. 
Down at extreme right is a palm and flower stand. 
The fireplace is in the right wall. Against the left 
wall stands a shelved music cabinet. There are chairs 
down left at right angles to the audience, one above 
the table, one slightly to the left and one slightly to the 
right of the table, one against left wall and one against 
the back wall to the right of the door. The few pictures 
are gay watercolour sketches. 

{When the curtain rises, Seton Sufan, ivearing 
evening dress, is discovered seated on the couch R.c. 
The audience see his face in profile. He is reading 
the front page of " Town Topics." He is a tall, slim 
good-looking boy of exactly twenty-one years. He 
hears the handle of the door move and he hastily 
throws the paper behind the couch. Mrs. Sufan 
enters. She is a tall, wistfully beautiful woman of 
about forty years. She wears a charming evening 

n 



12 ADVERTISEMENT. 

gown of a quiet colour and only slightly decollotee as 
she has been dining with imperfectly bred people.) 

Mrs. Sufan. So here you are. Why didn't you 
stay in the dining-room ? 

Seton {hoping that she won't see the pink paper). 
Oh, I can't stick their stories. 

Mrs. Sufan. Bit unhealthy for my twenty-one 
year old athlete, eh ? Don't they tell naughty 
stories at Cambridge ? [She sits beside him on the 
couch.) 

Seton. Only the churchy mob. What are you 
going to do to-night ? Where's Miss Appleyard ? 
Couldn't I catch a late train back ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Seton ! Want to leave your poor 
old mother already ? 

Seton. Oh, mother, don't be sentimental. I 
kissed you this morning, didn't I ? 

Mrs. Sufan (smiling). You did, Seton, and very 
nicely. What's the hurry to get back ? 

Seton. Well, really, mother, you must see it. 
This crowd are enough to give any chap the pip. 
[He rises and goes up c.) 

Mrs. Sufan. I didn't expect you'd take to them, 
But you must remember, Seton, that they are your 
father's business friends. A man after money can't 
pick his acquaintances. 

Seton. But why have them on my twenty-first 
birthday ? I thought there would be only you and 
the pater and Miss Appleyard and perhaps a nice 
girl or two. (He comes down to her.) 

Mrs. Sufan. You're a scamp, Seton. You haven't^ 
begun to think of girls ? 

Seton (chuckling). Rather, oldmatlier ! Bags of 'em 

Mrs. Sufan. No, really, S2ton7~^ (Alittle anxious.) 
Don't tell me you are bothering your head about 
that sort of thing. 

Seton. Great Scott, mother, you don't mean that 
I oughtn't to kiss them. 




ADVERTISEMENT. 13 

Mrs. Suf'an. Oh dear no. I wasn't thinking of 
girls exactly. I me§,n — creatures. 

Seton. Mother, you are frightfully out of date. 
Chaps don't make asses of themselves that way now. 

Mrs. Sufan. Oh, don't they ? 

Seton. No fear. You either make love to a 
dinker in your own set and break her heart, or go off 
your rocker about a married woman. 

Mrs. Sufan. Good heavens ! 

Seton. I haven't had a chance to do either yet, 
so you needn't worry. Where's Miss Appleyard ? 
{Moving restlessly tip stage again.) 

Mrs. Sufan. Do you want to kiss her ? 

Seton (turning round sharply). What do you 
think she'd say ? 

Mrs. Sufan. She might forgive you on your 
twenty-first birthday. 

Seton. She was all over that journalist chap at 
dinner — what was his name ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Randolph Qualtrough ? 

Seton. He seemed a decent sort — the only one, 

Mrs. Sufan. He is a gentleman. 

Seton. How old is Miss Appleyard ? 

Mrs. Sufan. She must be thirty. Why ? 

Seton. She ought to get married. 

Mrs. Sufan. Seton, for goodness' sake, don't say 
anything like that to her, 

Seton. Why not ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Well, my dear boy, Miss Appleyard 
■ — er 

Seton. Well ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Well, she was once engaged to be 
married. The man died. She was rather poor, 
She then came to me as my companion. It must be 
eight or nine years ago, but I'm sure she has not 
forgotten. 

Seton. I see. I might have made an awful ninny 
of myself. 

Mrs. Sufan. You might. And besides, Seton, 



U ADVERTISEMENT. 

you mustn't go about advising young women to get 
married. They mightn't Hke it. You're hardly old 
enough. 

Seton {mimicking her). Not old enough. Was 
the old mother going to preach, eh ? (He comes down 
close behind the couch and pretends to tickle her and 
snatch the ornaments from her hair.) 

Mrs. Sufan. Seton, stop that. You little devil ! 
Stop it, I say. 

(He stops teasing her and, with his right arm wound 
round her neck, kisses her very> heartily. The door 
opens and admits Miss Apple yard. She is a 
woman of about thirty years, very gracef idly bviilt, 
very pretty, with a face as sweetly white as a sea- 
washed pebble. She is dressed in a plain black 
evening gown with only a suggestion of decolletee.) 

Seton (going straight up to her at the door). Miss 
Appleyard, will you marry me ? 

Miss Appleyard. Yes. Quick. Come along, get 
your hat. 

Seton. Oh, I thought you'd refuse. 

Miss Appleyard. Now I'll sue you for breach of 
promise. 

. Mrs. Sufan (rising and crossing to the piano, where 
she sits on the piano stool). Seton had quite made up' 
his mind that you were going to elope with Mr. 
Qualtrough. (She begins to play a romantic air.) 

Miss Appleyard. Little boy's growing up, eh ? 
Little boy's eyes getting bigger. 

Seton. He never took his eyes off you the whole 
meal. 

Miss Appleyard. Do you know why ? . . . He's 
a C3.nnibal, or descended ^from cannibals. He said 
that if he suddenly attempted to eat me I was to 
remesi^r that he had warned m&. 

Seto-n. That sounds pretty fervent. Still, sweets 
iire frightfully indigestible. Doesn't he know that ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. i§ 

{Be slips his arm round her waist and kisses her as she 
cofdes down to the couch.) 

Miss Apple yard. You kissed me once before. 
Do you remember, Mrs. Sufan ? It was on the first 
day I came here and his mouth was all sticky with 
toffee. 

Seton. That's right. Rot me because I was once 
a kid. I only kiss you now because you're the only 
girl on hand. 

, Miss Appleyard. I'm perfectly well aware of that. 
{She sits on the couch.) 

SETO^\{moving restlessly about). Look here, what 
are we going to do ? 

Mrs. Sufan {speaking as she plays). We are going 
to be perfectly polite people, Seton, and sit and listen 
to your father and his guests. 

Seton. Listen to them jawing about hoardings 
and unsolicited testimonials and best results and all 
that rot. Not for me. 

Mrs. Sufan. Seton, this is your birthday party. 
You must put up with a little inconvenience. 

Miss Appleyard. You must be a good boy, speak 
only when you're spoken to and be content with kiss- 
ing old maids. 

Seton. It's sickening. {To Miss Appleyard.) 
Can't you and I go to the billiard room ? 

Miss Appleyard. It's more than my reputation's 
worth. 

Mrs.. Sufan. Sit down and hold her hand, Seton, 
while I play to you. 

(Seton sits close to Miss Appleyard on the/couch 
and leans his head on the hack. Miss Appleyard 
strokes his curly hair.) " . ■ 

.; ' ' '. f.' 

Seton {wh-en after a few seconds the music stops)'': '' 
This is all right. Go on, mother. -' ' 

(Mrs. Sufan laughs and resumes playing.) ... 

What is that tune, mother? ...r'i.f 



16 ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mrs. Sufan. Something your father used to play. 

{The door opens and admits Adolf, the hutler. He is a 
dark, eely, sinister German-Swiss, fifty-seven years 
of age, though looking younger. His black hair is 
very scanty and streaky. He is obviously of Semitic 
origin. He carries a tray on which is a large leather 
casket smelling of a jeweller's shop. Smilingly he 
places the casket on the table.) 

Mrs. Sufan. What is it, Adolf ? 

Adolf [who speaks with a suspicion of a foreign 
accent). I can't say, madam. The master told me 
to place it in this precise position. 

[He smilingly retires.) 

Seton {going to table and examining case). What 
a nasty, greasy smile that beggar's got. Why doesn't 
dad get rid of him ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Get rid of Adolf ! I wish he could, 
but you might just as well ask him to cut off his 
right hand. 

Seton. Nasty foreign brute ! 

Mrs. Sufan. They were friends thirty years ago. 
Adolf is now your father's butler. They are still 
friends, though I'm sure the old wretch would sooner 
murder me than serve me. 

Seton. Dad's tastes are really the limit. I say 
{in reference to the case he handles), it's a jeweller's 
box, isn't it ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Don't say you've bought your poor 
old mother a tiara, Seton. 

Seton. I don't know anything about it. 

Miss Apple yard. Who has a birthday ? 

Seton. Oh Lord ! Not another present ! 

Miss Appleyard. Poor martyr ! 

Seton. But you've all given me one, even the 
servants. Whom can it be from ? 

Mrs. Sufan. How if it were a present from your 
father's guests to-night ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 17 

Seton. Oh, my hat ! 

Mrs. Sufan (^£-7^0 is still playing softly) . The gentle- 
men who you said " gave you the pip." 

Miss Apple yard. And to whom you were so very, 
very haughty during dinner. 

Seton. Can it really be from them ? I shall feel 
a mean swab. What on earth can it be, anyway ? 

{The door opens and Seton drops the case as if it were 
a hot coal, hurriedly resuming his seat by Miss Apple- 
Yard. Randolph Qualtrough enters, carrying 
a hook. A man of about 32 years of age. he stands, 
over six feet and has a striking rather than a handsome 
appearance in evening dress. He speaks very softly, 
as is the way with giants. He leaves the door open 
behind him and comes smilingly down to Miss Apple- 
yard. He places one hand on the edge of the couch 
and leans over her.) 

Qualtrough. You were quite right. It goes 
" Beauty is truth, truth beauty — that is all ye know 
on earth and all ye need to know." {He shows her 
the lines in the volume of Keats which he carries.) 

Mrs. Sufan (still playing). Seton ! 

Seton (rising reluctantly). Yes, mother ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Come and turn over this page for me. 

(Seton crosses to her and Qualtrough takes his 
place on the couch.) 

Miss Appleyard. I thought I was right. And I 
love to catch anyone out in a quotation. It makes 
me feel so clear-headed. 

(Seton has turned and is about to go again to the couch 
when he sees that Qualtruogh has taken his place. 
He stops still, speechless with disgust, glares at 
Qualtrough and then turns to his mother. Mrs. 
Sufan smiles mischievously, and he seats himself 
impulsively on the little seat below the piano, crosses 
his legs and thrusts his hands in his trouser pockets. 



18 ADVERTISEMENT. 

WiLLOUGHBY Woods «W(i Duncan Mvdi^, both in 
evening dress, enter. Woods is a tall, dean-shaven, 
slightly ruddy, middle-aged man. He is an Ameri- 
can, and this is obvious from his way of speaking. 
He is a very keen man €f business, but there is 
decidedly a whiff of the dpen air about him. Duncan 
MuDiE is a short, broad, good-looking Scot of about 
35. He wears a dark moustache, his complexion 
is very clear and his eyes bright. He alone, of 
Sufan's guests, is not altogether happy in his 
environment, but he is always bright and smiling. 
He would feel easier if some one asked him to sing, 
though, ' oddly enough, he has no voice. Woods 
enters first and walks down easily to Miss Appleyard. 
MuDiE looks brightly round and then moves to the 
left, leaning against the hollow of the grand piano.) 

Woods. I hope you properly felt the agony of 
separation from us, Miss Appleyard, 

Miss Appleyard. I did, Mr. Woods. I would 
have thrown myself off the balcony into Arlington 
Street if you had been a minute longer. 

QuALTROUGH (with lazy interest). Has there ever 
been a suicide of that sort in this street ? When I 
was a junior reporter, I used positively to live on 
suicides. If anyone jumped off a balcony on Mon- 
day it alwa3^s meant five shillings extra for me on 
Saturday. I don't know that I ever earned anything 
out of Arlington Street. 

{While QuALTROUGH is speaking Bert Pym enters. 
He is very short and plump, like a robin. He is 
neatly and smartly dressed, though the buttons of his 
dress waistcoat are not quit^ what they should be. 
He has a well-trimmed little moustache and his eyes 
are bright. Immediately he enters the audience 
recognize a humorist. Thus now he makes a bow 
and then repeats it to all in the room as if he were 
giving an imitation of an actor calle.i before the 
Qurtain, Now h3 improvises an imitation of a 



ADVERTISElMENt. lb 

juggler throwing up halls and catching them behind 
his hack and finishes quite a miniature entertainment 
by producing a coin, affecting to swallow it and then 
recovering it from his sleeve. Again he hows all 
round amid genuine amusement. A great hoy, 
Bert Pym. The soul of humour. Thus sometimes 
one might see him amusing the company by affecting 
to he lame, dragging one leg after the other. Anon 
he may execute a step dance or convulse one by 
patting his hat after the manner of a celebrated music 
hall comedian.) 

Pym. Missed my vocation, didn't I, Miss Apple - 
yard ? 

Seton. I wish you'd show me how you do that 
coin trick, Mr. Pym. 

Pym. Perfectly simple, dear boy. (He comes 
to him and repeats the trick.) 

Miss Apple YARD [quietly to Qualtrough). 
Quaint little chap, isn't he ? 

Qualtrough. He's worse than quaint. He's 
entertaining. I have an awful presentiment that 
before the evening is out he will scratch himself 
with the object of representing a monkey. You 
know the sort of thing. 

Miss Appleyard. Oh, very well. I've been 
expecting him all the evening to give an imitation 
of Sir Herbert Tree. 

(John Hext enters, followed by Luke Sufan. Hext 
is a tall old man, slightly stooping, with round 
shoulders. His hair is scanty and his moustache 
white. He is inclined to mumble when he talks. 
Luke Sufan is a big, burly, handsome man of fifty. 
He wears a short beard and moustache. (" Thou 
shall not destroy the corners of thy heard." — Lev. 
xix. 27. Jews clip the hair of the head with scis- 
sors. A razor is not employed, .^and shaving is 
avoided.) A slight prominence of nose and a violent 
ruddiness of lip indicates his Jewish extraction. 



20 ADVERTISEIVIENT. 

He looks exceedingly well in evening dress, though 
one deplores the searchlight diamonds in his shirt 
front and on his left hand. He is just now in excel- 
lent spirits, though they are clearly, to a keen observer, 
of the post-liqueur order.) 

SuFAN (as he enters with his hand on Hext's shoul- 
der). Just what I say, bonny, just what I say. 
Life's the funniest thing in this world, absolutely. 

(Woods walks up to meet him. Hext seats himself 
on chair left of table.) 

Well (to Woods), bonny, any complaints ? Why 
aren't you smoking ? Adolf 

(Adolf has followed his master into the room and 
closed the door after him.) 

Bring the cigars. You know the ones. (To 
Woods again after Adolf's exit.) I must tell you. 

Old Johnny Hext 

Hext. Not so much of the " old," Sufan. 

(Bert Pym drops down into the easy chair down left.) 

Sufan (laughing). Young Johnny Hext has been 
trying to tell me a story all the evening. He says 
you wouldn't let him get in a word edgeways. Well, 
he stopped behind just now to give it to me, and 
bothered if it isn't the best I've heard for years. 

Hext. Humbug. Little peculiar, that's all. 
Miss Appleyard. Loss of memory. 

Sufan. Well, this is it. Old Johnny 

Hext (with emphasis). Not — so — very — old. 

Sufan. He's afraid of his wife. That's the first 
point, 

Hext. I said nothing of the sort. What I 

Sufan. Now, you keep quiet. Johnny was 
very late the other night, one o'clock or some dread- 
ful time. Not wishing to disturb his wife's slumbers 
« — ^ahem — ^he took his boots off in the hall 



ADVERTISEMENT. 21 

Hext. An absolute fabrication, Miss Appleyard. 

SuFAN. — and — when he reached the bedroom, 
nndressed very quietly indeed. His wife didn't 
stir, and he sneaked into bed finally without waking 
her up. It was the first time such a thing had ever 
happened, and old Johnny was all the more surprised 
because he had dropped one of his boots. He was 
so puzzled that he thought she must be shamming. 
So he turned round to tap her on the shoulder. Then 
he remembered that she'd gone away for a fortnight 
that morning. 

(He roars with laughter and the others join in, hut not 
so noisily. Woods sits on right of table. Seton 
laughs shrilly a good deal later than the other men. 
Adolf re-enters with the cigars.) 

Seton. That's not bad. I must remember that. 

Mrs. Sufan. What is the interesting casket on 
the table, Luke ? 

Sufan. Eh ? Ha, ha ! You must ask our 
guests about that. Pass the cigars round, Adolf. 

Woods (rising and speaking slowly hut with a 
gathering assurance). Well, Mrs. Sufan, with your 
husband's consent, we have been permitted to do 
— to show in some way our interest, I might say our 
friendship for him by remembering in some small 
way the twenty-first anniversary of the birth of his 
son. 

Sufan. That's it, my bonny boy. Wait a bit 
till they've all got something to smoke. (He is 
anxious that the thing should he done with reasonable 
ceremony.) 

(Woods, thus interrupted, does not know whether to 
sit down for a while or remain standing. Finally 
he sits down. All take cigars from Adolf, who 
places the box on the table before retiring.) 

Where's Mudie ? 



22 ADYERTISEi\IENT. 

{He looks round and discovers that young nv%n still 
leaning meekly against the piano.) 

Get a chair, Mudie. Make yourself at home. 

MuDiE {who does not relish attention being drawn 
to him). That's all right. I'll just sit here. 

{He speaks in a soft Scottish accent. The seat he 
chooses is on a chair against the left wall, quite 
close to where he is standing.) 

SuFAN. Oh, not there, bonny, not there. Come 
and sit where we can all see you. 

Pym (imitating a Scottish accent very vilely). Come 
into the body of the kirk. 

(Mudie self-consciously brings his chair down and 
places it midway between those of Woods and Pym.) 

SuFAN. That's better, bonny, that's better. 
(SuFAN sits above table c.) 

Mrs. Sufan. Now, Mr. Woods, do put the poor 

boy out of his — er Seton, you'll have to make 

a speech later. 

Woods. Well, Mrs. Sufan, it has not been our 
pleasure to meet you or your son before this even- 
ing, but I may say we all have been very closely 
associated with your husband since he started that 
great commercial proposition that is now so well 
known and — er — so 

Pym. And so forth ! 

Woods. Well, Mr. Pym is justified in drawing 
attention to my halting eloquencs. I'm sure he 
could give you a flow of oratory that would put Daniel 
Webster back in short pants. 

(Laughter from Pym, who smacks his knees.) 

This speech should have been made by my friend 
Arthur Logansport Hartman, whose name is every- 
where respected in the advertising world, but un- 
fortunately, though he is a subscriber to the tribute 



ADVERTISEMENT. 23^ 

on the table, he was unable to be present. He then 
asked me to make the presentation. I answered 
" no " with a capital N and he replied " Punk," so 
there was nothing else for it. He properly wrung 
in a cold deck on me as we say in America. Well, 
I can say I'm glad, real glad, to be here and be 
associated with this — er — with this tribute. I've 
known Luke Sufan a good many years now and all 
I can say is that I hope the son will grow up like 
his father. A twenty-first birthday is a landmark 
in one's life, a time for resolutions and a time for — 
er — consideration. It's well that the practice of 
gifts should mai'k it because that practice helps the 
receiver to realize the significance of the — er 

Hext. That's enough, Woodsey. 

Woods. Well, maybe I'm getting too far into 
the deep stuff. But I do want to emphasize our 
pleasure in meeting Mrs. Sufan and her son. I see 
from Who's Who this morning that our host and 
hostess celebrate their silver wedding next year. 

Sufan. What's that ? 

Woods. I say I see that you celebrate your 
silver wedding next year. 

Sufan. Yes, yes. But where did you say you 
saw it ? 

Woods. I saw it from the date of your marriage 
in Who's Who. 

Sufan {excitedly). In Who's Who. Do you hear 
that ? In Who's Who. Now that's a funny thing. 
I sent them all the details so that they shouldn't 
have the trouble of asking me, but I didn't know 
I was in. {To Qualtrough.) Just ring that bell 
behind you, bonny. We must have a look at this. 

(Qualtrough presses the hell- push hy the side of the 

fireplace.) 

Who's Who, eh ? We are getting on. How long 
was it, Woodsey ? Have they 



24 ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mrs. Sufan. My dear Luke, do let Mr. Woods 
finish his speech. 

Sufan. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That's right. 
You go on, bonny, you go on. 

Woods. Well, I was remarking that next year 
you and your good wife would be celebrating your 
silver wedding. It may or may not be the privilege 
of all of us here to-night to be near enough to you on 
that occasion to personally congratulate you 

QuALTROUGH (sotto voce). — personally to con- 
gratulate 

Woods. — but I may say right here and now 
that the fortunes of your family 

(Adolf enters quietly and stands by the door.) 

Sufan. Ah, Adolf, I want vou to send some one 
out at once to get a copy of Who's Who. You know 
the book, don't you ? 

Adolf. Yes, sir. Rather difficult to get it at 
this time of night, sir. 

Sufan. M'yes. Bit it's sure to be on sale at a 
railway bookstall. {He feels in his pocket.) Seven 
and sixpence, isn't it ? 

Hext. Fifteen shillings, young fellow. 

Sufan. Oh ! Fifteen shillings ! . . . I know. 
Mr. Trappes at Number 19 is sure to have one. Take 
him my compliments, Adolf, and ask him if h^'U 
be good enough to lend me his Who's Who for an 
hour or so. 

Adolf. Yes, sir 

(Exit Adolf.) 

Sufan. Come on again, bonny. You're making 
this oration under difficulties. 

Mrs. Sufan. You ought to be thoroughly ashamed 
of 3^ourself, Luke. 

Sufan. Woodsey doesn't mind, do you ? 

Woods. Don't vou s^^inpathize with me. Mrs, 
Sufan. I'm alv/ays sorry for those who have to 



ADVERTISEMENT. 25 

listen to me. Anyway it's all over now. I'll just 
ask Mr. Seton Sufan to accept this tribute from his 
father's friends and congratulate him on attaining 
his majority. 

(He opens the casket and produces a large silver loving 
cup, rendered a monstrosity by its gilded handles. 
A murmur of simulated admiration comes from 
Mrs. Sufan. Seton stares at it as if it frightened 
him. He rises and takes it awkwardly.) 

Seton. It's awfully good of you. Terrific sort 
of pot, isn't it, terrific ? You are good. It's really 
swagger, isn't it ? Thanks awfully, Mr. Woods. 
(He shakes Woods' hand and then mikes an impulsive 
dash behind Sufan's chair and shakes hands with 
Hext.) And you, Mr. Hext. (He shakes Hext's 
hand.) And you, Mr. Qualtrough. 

QuALTROUGH. Well, Mr. Sufan, you must not 
include me. I was not given an opportunity of 

Sufan. No, Seton, Qialtrough's not in this. 
But he's going to put it in the Daily Passenger. 

QuALTROUGH (sharply). Eh ? 

Seton. Oh Lord ! Oh, yes. Thanks awfulty. 
(Crosses to Mudie.) And thank you, Mr. Mudie, 
(Shakes hands with him.) And thank you, Mr. Pym, 
(Shakes hands with Pym.) It's an awfully fine thing, 
isn't it ? 

Pym (with sincerity). Laddie, it's a toff's lot. 
It's a really nice ornament. You can keep that all 
your life. It's good enough for any sid aboard. In 
fact you could put it anywhere and never get tired 
of it. It's so tasteful. 

Set6N. Yes. It would create a sensation at 
Cambridge. Look, mother. 

(He passes the pot to his mother, who examines it with 
well affected interest.) 

I can't make a speech, father, you know. But it's 
very sporting of — er — these sportsman to give ma 



26 ADVERTISEMENT. 

this, and I thank them very much indeed. (He 
again sits on the small seal below the piano.) 

SuFAN (rising). Well, of course, it's orl/ natural 
that the lad should be bashful. I'm sure when I 
was his age I could have talked the hind leg off an 
elephant, but they knock that sort of thing out of 
them at Cambridge. Well, my bonny boys, it's 
a pleasure to have you here to-night. When I look 
back I can't help thinking life's the funniest thing 
in the world. It really is. When I was that boy's 
age I was trying to get a living out of an old fiddle, 
drawing " one-one " for a night's work when I could 
get it. " One-one." And very often not more 
than once a week. And did you notice that funny 
old chap who waited on us at dinner ? Old Adolf ? 
He's just gone for the Who's Who. Well, bless you, 
bonnies, he used to play my accompaniments. Yes, 
and now he's my butler. He was a Soho waiter 
then. Oh, I tell you, life's the funniest thing in 
this world. Then suddenly I strike the good old 
Staminal. It ca.me to me one night in a chemist's 
when I was buying twopennorth of toothache tinc- 
ture after playing a mazarka, a polonaise and two 
encores at an Aldersgate Street banquet. I saw 
the words Seigel's Syrup on a card. Seigel's Syrup, 
says I. Why not Sufan's Syrup ? What for, I 
thought ? Sufan's for Stamina wasn't a bad line. 

Hext. That's all right. Sufan's for stamina. 

SuFAN. Stamina ! Stamina ! Stamina ! I thought 
the word out for three days and three nights, and 
then it came to me. Sufan's Staminal Syrup. I 
got the chemist to mix me a buck-up paste and sold 
hundreds of bottles out of an eighteen penny " ad." 
m an evening paper. And now all tjhe world knows 
it. " You need suffer no more " " Cures that run- 
down feeling," " Begin to get right to-day." Thou- 
sands of inches of space, a house in Arlington Street, 
two automobiles and a boy at Cambrige. My 
bonn}^ boys 



ADVERT1SE^,S]NT. 27 

Mrs. Sufan (angrily). What has all this to do 
with Seton's birthday ? \ 

Sufan. You must let me talk. I'm coming to 
something. But not your way round. Now, bonnies, 
did I do this thing all out on my own ? No. I 
got so far, but I could get no farther. Why ? I 
hadn't the brains, to get beyond a certain point, 
but I had the capital. What did I do ? I bought 
the brains, your brains. And in a few years Sufan 's 
Staminal Syrup was the premier proprietary 
speciality in the patent medicine market. And 
you did it. 

(^4 murmuy of polite dissent from the well-pleased 
advertising magnates.) 

Oh yes, you did. Mind you, I paid. There's not 
a single firm in London at this minute spending 
more on adyertising. Is that right ? 

(General assent. Seton pricks up his ears and begins 
to look suspicions. Mrs. Sufan watches her son 
closely.) 

I spend the money, but 3/ou give m^ value, and so 
jong as I spend I reckon you'll keep my stuff up as 
the best seller. 

Woods. You can bet your life on that, Sufan. 

Sufan. Well, I've had you boys often enough 
in my house, but I've never before had an oppor- 
tunity of telling you before my family how grateful 
I am to you. My wife interrupted me just now 
because she couldn't see the drift of m}^ talk. Well, 
here's the drift. To-day my only son is twenty-one. 
He's a good lad. He's a straight lad. (He drops into 
Yiddish.) (He's my dearest possession, the apple 
of my eye, and the hope of my years.) Er iz mein 
tayerst fermegen, dos apple fin mein oyg, un die 
hofnung fin meine johren, if you'll forgive me using 
the old tongue. But he's started life with a big 
handicap. He's started as a rich man's son, and 



28 ADVERTISEMENT. 

the son of a rich man who is weak and fond enough 
to educate him right above his father's grade. Let 
that go. The thing is done and I've no regrets. 
But to-night — on this most important day of his 
life — I have reminded him of what his father is, of 
what his father sprung from. 

Seton. Dad, I've never 

SuFAN. Don't say anything, Seton. I don't 
misunderstand you. But I don't want you to mis- 
understand what has occurred to-night. I designed 
that you should spend this evening of the day of 
your coming of age among the men of your father's 
set. You will go back to Cambridge and afterwards 
into the army, and you will alwa3/s keep that cud 
that stands beside you. You will keep it (he speaks 
slowly and meaningly to Seton, intending to convey 
anything hut what he is actually saying) as a souvenir 
of the affection and good wishes of the men who made 
the family fortune. 

(Seton winces. He does not understand. His father 
sits down quietly. There are a few spasmodic and 
not quite comfortable " Hear, hear's.") 

Pym [brightly). The oratory now being over, 
do we ? (He deals cards in dumb show.) 

Woods. I thought the proposition was that we 
should play snooker. Miss Appleyard 

Miss Appleyard. Oh, please don't bother about 
me. 

QuALTROUGH. But you said that you would like 
to play. 

Miss Appleyard. Yes. But 

Mrs. Sufan. Do play, my dear, if you want to. 

Miss Appleyard. Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. 
.Sufan. Come on, Mr. Hext. Only a penny a ball. 

{She links her arm in Hext's and they gaily leave the 

room.) 



I 



ADVERTISEMENT. 29 

(MUDIE carefully replaces his chair against the wall 
ani follows them off.) 

Pym (rising). Well, snooker let it be. (To 
Seton.) Will you play ? 

Seton. Not to-night, thank you. 

Pym. Want to enjoy some music, eh ? And 
very nice too. All mv family are fearfully musical. 
Not me. Nanty ! Here ! Ever heard my com- 
position ? Little tone-poem. Excuse me, Mrs, 
Sufan. (He leans over the piano.) I call it " Nel- 
son's Column." (He runs a finger the full length of 
the keys from base to treble.) That's the column. 
(He strikes A, the highest note of all.) That's Nelson. 
See ? The whole idea is two movements. No time 
wasted. 

(Miss Apple yard reappears at the door.) 

Miss Apple yard. Oh, do come along. It will 
be so jolly with a lot playing. ! 
Pym. Ah, she summons me ! 

(Miss Appleyard laughs and disappears.) 

(Woods and Qualtrough rise, hut Sufan remains 

seated.) 

Beauty calls. (He strides dramatically to the door, 
gesticidating as he speaks.) Farewell, a long fare- 
well to all my greatness. 'Tis a far, far better 

Woods. Ah, cut it out. 

(Woods playfully jostles him from the room, followirg 

himself.) 

Sufan (rising and coming down to Qualtrough). 

You'll get that little paragraph in, won't you, Qual- 
trough. (He jingles loose silver in his trousers pocket.) 

Qualtrough. I'll try, Mr. Sufan. But you 
mustn't forget that 

Sufan. Listen, bonny. I spend big money 
with your paper. I take a full page once a month, 



30 ^HDVERTISEMENT. 

and I've got space in every blessed issue. You 
put it the right way to your mm. Write it nice 
and newsy. You know the sort of thing. " Mer- 
chant Prince's Son comes of Age. Handsome tribute 
from well-known city men." You know. Not too 
much. Just a na.me or two. Mr. Sufan, so well 
known in connection with the famous Stamina I 
Syrup and all that. Hang it. I'm in Who's Who. 
I ought to be good enough for the Daily Passenger, 
Have a cigar ? (He picks up ths box from the table) 

QuALTROUGH. Thanks. I haven't finished this 
one. 

Sufan. N^ver mini. Help yourself. Put some 
in your pocket. They're all right. Go on. 

(QuALTROUGH reluctantly takes another and moves 
towards the door.) 

One be damned ! Take a handful. Come on, 
bonny. They're all right, I tell you. 

(Despairingly Qualtrough takes a few more.) 

It doesn't matter about to-morrow morning. The 
next day'll do so long as it gets a good place. 

(They are walking off together.) 

You put it to your man. It's sure to be all right. 
And don't forget to say the boy's at Cambridge. 
(He turns for a m-oment.) Jesus, ain't it, Seton ? 
Yes. He won the two hundred yards in ten seconds. 
There was a picture in the 

(They are off.) 

Seton. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. (He 
moves across the room and sits on the couch, leaning 
'forward, his head in his hands.) 
V Mrs. Sufan (coldly as -if with an effort to restrain 
herself) . Shall we play piquet ? 
:- Seton [ignoring the qiiesUon). The damned hum- 
ougs ! {He gets up and strides up stage and down 



ADVERTISEMENT. 31 

agam.) My canonized aunt. Just look at it ! I 
ask you. 

Mrs. Sufan. Given to you for a purpose, Seton. 

Seton. Yes. " As a souvenir of the good wishes 

and affection of the men who " Pah ! I feel 

as if I'd swallowed salt. 

Mrs. Seton. That was not what he meant. 

Seton. Then why didn't he say what he meant ? 

Mrs. Sufan. He couldn't without offending his 
guests. 

Seton. Then what did he mean ? 

Mrs. Sufan. He meant that he would like you 
to keep the cup to remind you of {she speaks with 
difficulty) your breeding. 

Seton. My breeding ! Am I ever likely to 
forget it ? 

Mrs. Sufan. You might. . . . Boys do. . . . 
He has seen that. Oh ! He is not a little wise. 

Seton. Breeding ! Do you. know what they call 
me at Cambridge ? 

Mrs. Sufan. No. 

Seton. And unfortunately I can't tell you. And 
if you get a nickname at Cambridge, it sticks. All 
my life I shall be " Old " — well, never mind. 
,. Mrs. Sufan {zcjith a little touch of concern). Do 
you mean that you are avoided, snubbed, looked 
down upon ? 

Seton. Oh, no. My :doubl€l5Iue*' Mopped that. 
But I get the name all right. I'm supposed to laugh 
at it. 

Mrs. Sufan. Well, can't you ? 
' Seton. I can't. I hate the whole vile business. 
I'm ashamed of it. . . . Yes, and I'm ashamed of 
him. 

Mrs. Sufan. I'm afraid he knows that. 

Seton. I can't help it. Mother, you must 
realize the insult of this wretched present. These 
vulgarians have been screwed — yes, screwed to buy 
that hideous thing. " Come and dine. My son's 



32 ADVERTISEMENT. 

twenty-first birthday." What else could they do ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Remember that they were probably 
glad of the opportunity. 

Seton. Of course they were. It suited their 
book to the ground. A present to him would be too 
obvious. But one to his son — and on such a suitable 
occasion — just the thing. Just the thing ! That's 
what they'd whisper over their lunches. Just the 
thing to please the old Yid — the old Yid, mother. 
That's how they'd speak of him. 

Mrs. Sufan. I know, I know. 

Seton. The dirty, hypocritical gang. For two 
pins Td smash all their heads with their own beastly 
pot. 

Mrs. Sufan. Seton, you have no sense of humour. 

Seton. Sense of humour ! Is it funny to be made 
a fool of ? Father may laugh. They may laugh. 
Can I laugh too ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Try, Seton. When the Greeks 
sent the Trojans a wooden horse, I'm sure the Tro- 
jans laughed at first. That big wooden horse was 
just as funn}/ as this pot. And there is nothing in 
the pot to haim you. 

Seton. No, mother. But is it always to be like 
this ? [He is very excited.) Am I never to get away 
from 

Mrs. Sufan. Gently, Seton. There's a dear boy. 
You are going into the army. You will be in a world 
of your choosing then. He is rich, so you will be 
rich. You must not complain. 

Seton. I know that I oughtn't to, but this has 
been inside me for a long time and it had to come out. 

Mrs. Sufan. Had to come out ? What had to 
come out ? 

Seton. What I've been saying. 

Mrs. Sufan. You've said nothing that I haven't 
heard you say before. 

Seton. Eh ? Haven't I said it ? 

Mrs. Sufan. No. What is it ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 33 

Seton. Surely I said it. You understood, didn't 

you? 
Mrs. Sufan. I may have understood 
Seton (after a pause). Oh, mother, why did you 

marry a Jew ? 

{There must he no suspicion of contempt in the pro- 
nunciation of thi^ word.) 

Mrs. Sufan. You shouldn't ask me, for you 
know that I can't answer. Twenty-two years ago 
I was — I hardly remember what I was other than 
eighteen years of age. He was handsome, strong 
of will, artistic and ambitious. He appealed to me. 
I never thought of my religion. He never thought 
of his. He is far more religious now than he was 
when I married him. When you were born he agreed 
that you should be brought up as a Christian. He 
didn't seem to care. But I think he cares now. 
And, do you know, Seton, that in those days, keen 
on business as he was, he had a soul for other things 
— beautiful things — and especially for music. He 
played the violin like an angel. That little thing 
I. was playing just now was his favourite air. When 
you were a baby he played it to you. Now he never 
touches the instrument. He cares for nothing in the 
wide world but his business — and you. 

Seton. I wish he hated me. 

Mrs. Sufan (miserably). Oh, Seton! Seton! 

Seton. I can't help it. I'm thoroughly ashamed 
of the feeling. I know it's unnatural. But there 
must be an end to this humbug. I can't bear his 
society. I can't look him in the face. My eyes 
drop when I have to speak to him. It's because — ■ 
because I don't like him. 

Mrs. Sufan (speaking wistfully and reminiscently) . 
He is quite unlike what I ever pictured he would be. 
The greed for money has changed his body as well 
as his soul. 

Seton. There is nothing in him that is like me. 



34 ADVERTISEMENT. 

There is nothing in me that is Hke him. It's extra- 
ordinary. He stands for everything that I would 
rather avoid. I suppose he's a great commercial 
genius. I suppose he's an awfully good man. But 
mother, mother darling, I have something from you 
that makes me hate commercial geniuses and — 
awfully good people. 

Mrs. Sufan (with a suspicion of a smile). Seton,. 
Seton ! Is all the bad in you your mother's ? 

Seton (putting his arms round her). Mother, 
everything in me is yours. 

Mrs. Sufan. Your strength ! Those long clever 
legs that let you run away from all the others ? 

Seton. Oh, hang my strength. You're as tall" 
as I am anyway. 

(She stands up beside him.) 

Taller ! And you know that you like what I like 
and hate what I hate. You must be unhappy. I 
am away long enough now. Of course I want to be 
away. 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. You can't even bear him for 
my sake. 

Seton. I could, but I'm selfish. Soon it will be 
worse for you. I shall get my commission and you'll 
see very little of me. Will j^ou live on as you're 
living now ? 

Mrs. Sufan. How can I say ? . . . And you 
must not ask me such a question, Seton. 

Seton. You don't realize that I've grown up. 

Mrs. Sufan. I don't, I don't. 

Seton. You ought to be glad — glad that I am 
old enough now to see your side, to sympathize even 
if 1 can't help. 

Mrs. Sufan. That's good hearing, dear. You're 
thinking less of yourself. 

Seton. Oh, no, I'm not My mind's made up. 
I have my plan all right. 

Mrs. Sufan. What do you m.ean ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 35 

Seton. I've stood all I'm going to stand. I'm 
of age and I'm going to cut free. 

Mrs. Sufan. What mad idea is that ? 

Seton. I will not pretend any longer to an affec- 
tion that doesn't exist. I'm going to have an honest 
row and end it all. 

Mrs. Sufan. End it all ? Do you mean that 
you will 

Seton. He shall cut me off. He shall drive me 
out. And quite justly too. 

Mrs. Sufan [sternly). Seton, are you deliberately 
going to break his heart ? 

Seton {uneasily). I can only spare him if I'm 
willing to play the humbug for the rest of my life. 

Mrs. Sufan. It would be braver to play the 
humbug. 

Seton. As you do. 

Mrs. Sufan {hiding her tears). That is brutal. 

Seton. But it is true, . . . Oh, if you only 
would break too. 

Mrs. Sufan. I shall not. He does not deserve 
it. There is something in his nature that you know 
nothing of, a sort of fanaticism for purity that uplifts 
him, that makes me afraid and respectful when I 
would despise him. You will be very little in his 
hands. He will pour into your ears what will burn 
in them every day of your life, Seton. Let him be. 

Seton. I break. I don't go on. You shan't 
shake me. 

Mrs. Sufan. I shall. I will not have him hurt 
that way. It would not be just. 

Seton [breathlessly). Mother, I believe you love 
him still. 

Mrs. Sufan. I say I will not have his heart 
broken. I love you, Seton, above everything in the 
world, but you shall not do this unjust thing. 

Seton. Just or unjust, I'll do it. You can stick 
it if you like, but I shall be free. 

Mrs. Sufan. -Seton, I'll tie your hands and gag 



36 ADVERTISEMENT. 

your mouth. For God's sake, drop the notion. 

Seton. Never ! 

Mrs. Sufan. Listen ! Listen ! . . . Here's your 
gag. {She covers her face with her hands.) 

Seton. What is it ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Oh, I never meant to tell you. 

Seton. Tell me. 

Mrs. Sufan. You have forced me. Remember, 
you have forced me. 

Seton. I'll remember. Tell me. 

Mrs. Sufan. Til tell you something of yourself 
that he does not know. 

Seton. Something he does not know ? Mother ! 

Mrs. Sufan. Listen. . . . 

(She hesitates, then she throivs her arms round him 
She feels that it is just possible that he will not let 
her embrace him again, when he knows the truth. 
Reluctantly she releases him.) 

You are not his son. 

Seton {after a pause). What do you mean ? 

Mrs. Sufan. You are not his son. {She looks 
up at him.) Oh, don't look at me like that — don't 
look at me like that. {She covers her eyes with her 
hands.) 

Seton {taking her wrists and pulling away her 
hands). I had guessed. . . . But, because you are 
• — you, I would not believe. 

Mrs. Sufan. It is true. {She moves from him and 
sits in the chair above the table.) 

Seton. Who was he ? 

Mrs. Sufan. You had better not know. 

Seton. Yes, I knew and yet I did not allow 
myself to know. Of course. This was the solution. 
Thank God you have told me. 

Mrs. Sufan. Seton, Seton, aren't you thinking 
of me ? 

Seton. No. Of myself. Do you wish to tell 
me how it happened ? 



ADVERTISEIVIENT. 37 

Mrs. Sufan. You must listen. . . , 

(Seton sits in chair L. of table.) 

For a little while we were very very happy. Then 
I think he tired a little, tired of me, tired even of his 
music. That wretched Adolf was his evil genius, I'm 
certain. He loathed me because I wasn't a Jewess. 
To him the marriage was awful. He lured my 
husband to fling himself into the business of moneyr 
making and the man seemed to slip from my know- 
ledge. He became harsh and rude . . . then brutal. 
Later (she shudders at the recollection) he became very 
brutal. I ran away half mad with fear. I had no 
money. But I felt I must hide, and hide where I 
would be protected. I had no relations and I went 
to the house of the man I ought to have married. 
He sheltered me — and though he was a widower with 
children, offered to take me to the other side of the 
world and make me happy. I agreed — because the 
very thought of my husband filled me with terror. 

Seton. But you came back to him. 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. After two months I came 
back. I lied as to where I had hidden and he was 
unsuspicious. Men of his race are like that. 

Seton. But why, why did you come back ? 

Mrs. Sufan. The man who is your father was 
an officer and a few days before we had planned to 
go abroad he was unexpectedly offered an appoint- 
ment that had been the ambition of his life. He had 
to sacrifice that or me. 

Seton. And he sacrificed you ! 

Mrs. Sufan. I would not allow anything else. 
He would have given it all up for me [a little proudly) y 
but I refused to spoil his life. And then — at that 
time — (she hides her face) — there was — you and your 
future to think of. 

Seton. And what sort of hell did you come 
back to ? 

Mrs. Sufan. He graciously forgave me for run- 



38 ADVERTISEMENT. 

ning away and when he heard — when I told him — 
when I pretended to him that he was to become a 
father, he was kind. For two or three years, but 
that is all you need know, Seton. 

Seton [determinedly). Mother, tell me how he 
treats you now. 

Mrs. Sufan {wearily shaking her head). That is 
all you need know, dear. 

(LuKE' Sufan's voice heard off. Seton rises and 
crosses to the fireplace. Sufan enters joyously, 
carrying the borrowed " Who's Who.") 

Sufan. Here you are, bonnies. Here j^ou are, 
my boy. Just take this right in. [He reads.) 
" Sufan, Luke, b. 1863, Proprietor of Sufan's Stamina! 
Syrup, S. of Isaiah Sulan ; M. J 891, Ellen Alice 
Arkington ; one s." Ha,, ha ! " One s." One son ! 
That's, you, my boy. Ha ! ha ! That's damned 
fjmriy. You know, I always say life's the funniest 
thing in this world. " One S." That's all you get. 
That's the way they snub you for being the son of a 
celebrity. I must go and show it to the boys. "One 
s." Ha! ha! ha! 

[Exit.) 
Curtain. 



ACT II 

DURING THE WAR 

Scene. — Luke Sufan's City Office. 

Several months have elapsed since Act I. It is a bright 
January morning. 

The room is very hare. The walls are distempered 
green and there are no pictures on them. A huge 
window occupies the best part of the right wall. In 
the centre is a long table, the longer sides being parallel 
with the R. and L. walls. On the table is a type- 
writer, a hand telephone, blotter, ink and pens, and 
many papers, all at the head farthest from the footlights. 
Above the table is an easy chair and on either side 
are four other chairs. On the hack wall and occupy- 
ing most of the left half of it is a file of the original 
of the variotis posters issued to advertise Sufan's 
Speciality. The top one represents a Red Cross 
nurse waving aloft a large bottle labelled " Sufan's 
Staminal Syrup." Up right is a large blackboard 
with in front of it a set of steps. On the blackboard 
IS the following legend in chalk letters : 

You Don't Drink 
SUFAN'S staminal SYRUP 
Or You'd be too Busy 
To Look at This. 

[The only door is in the left wall up stage. To the left 
of the table and at the end farthest from the footlights 
sits Elsie Makins, a very pretty typist. She has 

39 



40 ADVERTISEMENT. 

several unsigned letters before her on the table. At 
present, chewing the end of a pencil, she is looking 
up at the blackboard. Luke Sufan sits on the 
opposite chair with his back to the typist. He 
wears a dark grey morning suit. He is also looking 
up at the blackboard. In his right hand he holds a 
duster. A moment or two after the rise of the curtain 
he gets up, mounts the steps and wipes off the board 
the top and last two lines, leaving only 

SUFAN'S STAMINAL SYRUP 

in the centre. He now picks up a piece of chalk and 
crosses through the S's in this line, so that they become 
symbols for dollars, thus : 

SUFAN'S ^TAMINAL SYRUP. 

Now under this line he writes : 

Worth a Dollar a Nip. 

Again he mounts the steps and writes at the top of 
the board : 

The only cure for an — 

He stops, scratches his head and gets down. He 
crosses to the table and consults a dictionary. He 
notes how to spell Ancsmia and then goes back and 
finishes the word on the blackboard. Again he sits 
down and surveys the handiwork. The telephone 
bell rings. Elsie Makins answers it.) 

Miss Makins. Yes. Who ? . . . Oh ! . . . (To 
Mr. Sufan) Mr. Qualtrough is here. He wants to 
come in and see you. 

Sufan [without turning). Ah ! He's off to the 
front to-morrow. Send him up. 

Miss Makin [speaking through telephone). Ask Mr. 
Qualtrough to come up at once, please. 

(Sufan gets up again and going to the board crosses 
out " nip " in the last line and substitutes " dose." 
Then he sits and again scrutinizes the proposed 
advertisement.) 



ADVERTISEMENT. 41 

SuFAN. What do you think of it, Miss Makins ? 
Miss Makins. You don't say what it costs. 
SuFAN. That's right. Where shall I put it ? 
Miss Makins. It's for America, of course. 
SuFAN. Yes. . . . What's your idea ? 
Miss Makins. Rub out the last line. 

[He does so.) 

Now put this : " You pay a dims and drink a dollar." 

(He writes it down as she says, has a good look at it, 
and then a good look at her. Then he picks up the 
telephone.) 

SuFAN (speaking into it). Counting-house, 
please. . . . Yes. Mr. Sufan speaking. Add five 
pounds to Miss Makins' cheque this week. 

Miss Makins. Oh, Mr. Sufan ! 

(Randolph Qualtrough enters. He is in khaki 
and wears the uniform of a staff interpreter.) 

Sufan. Qualtrough, do you want a wife ? 

Qualtrough. Well ! That's odd. 

Sufan. Let me present you to Miss Elsie Makins, 
a girl with the prettiest and the longest head in 
London. 

Qualtrough. How do you do, Miss Makins ? 

(He is not awkward at the introduction, hut for the life 
of him he cannot do more than smile approvingly 
at the girl.) 

Sufan. But you shan't marry her. She's indis- 
pensable. Run away now for a little while, Miss 
Makins. 

Miss Makins. But these letters, sir ? 

Sufan. Ah yes. (He picks them up and glances at 
one or two.) Bring them in presently. The top one 
won't do an3rway. 

Miss Makins. Yes, sir. . . . Oh, thank you so 
much, sir. 



%■ 



42 ADVERTISEMENT. 

{She gathers up her papers and leaves the room.) 

SuFAN (sitting down in chair at head of table)' 
WeU? 

QuALTROUGH. It's really very odd that you 

should ask me that question as soon as I come into 

the room. That is precisely what I have come about. 

SuFAN. What question ? . . . [To himself.) You 

pay a dime and drink a dollar. 

QuALTROUGH. Why, about my wanting a wife . . . 
I do want one. 

SuFAN. You pay a — well, this isn't a girl shop, 
bonny. 

QuALTROUGH. Look here, Sufan, I'm off to the 
front to-morrow. I don't like to go without — you see 
another chap might come along. I want to marry 
Miss Apple}' ard. 

Sufan. Well, marry her. My wife will be furious. 
She's in a temper already. Wants me to sack Adolf 
— just because he thieves a bit. Adolf — the friend 
of my youth ! Adolf — the human pianola ! Worst 
accompanist in London, but he was a very good 
waiter. Very good butler too. He may be a German- 
Swiss, but he's naturalized all right. Why sack him ? 
Women are fools. What do you think of that ? [He 
points to the blackboard.) 

QuALTROUGH. It's Very smart. Do you mind 
telling me where Miss Appleyard comes from ? 

Sufan. Oh, I see. Want to know the pedigree 
before you buy the — ahem ! Well, bonny, you're 
wise. 

OuALTROUGH. I'm thirty. 

Sufan. That's when you start being unwise. It 
isn't till you're thirty that you begin to give money 
away. I just gave that girl five pounds. I was a 
mug. She finished off that " ad." for me. I needn't 
have paid her. I threw the money away. And I'm 
hard up. Do you hear that, Qualtrough ? By 
George, I am hard up. Five pounds. [He snatches 



ADVERTISEMENT. 43 

Up the 'phone.) Counting-house. ... Is that the 
counting-house ? (He scratches his head.) Oh, 
nothing ! [He puts down the receiver.) Yes, bonny, 
I;'m hard up. 

OuALTROUGH. Nonseuse. 

SuFAN. Here, Qualtrough. You have your opin- 
ion of me, I know. You rather hke me, but you think 
I'm vulgar, don't you ? Don't deny it. You'd be a 
damned fool if you didn't think it. And you're not 
that. I am vulgar. I don't mind being vulgar 
and I don't mind not being able to get rid of it, but to 
console me I want money and power. Before the 
war I gave f{20..yQ00 to the — well, never mind which 
party, but you can guess it's the party that will get me 
a knighthood quickest. I find that I couldn't really 
afford the money. I've been misled. My business is 
going, going like blazes. We've dropped every 
month for six months. Now this war has put the lid 
on with a vengeance. I spend just as much on ad- 
vertising but still — oh, I don't know anything about 
Miss Appleyard. 

Qualtrough. Not her parentage ? 

SuFAN. Yes, I do. She was engaged. Man died. 
Then she came to my wife. Oh, damned good family. 
Kentish 3'eoman stock. Anyway, what are you 
squeamish about ? 

Qualtrough. Squeamish ! Good heavens, I'm 
not squeamish. Any brothers and sisters? 

SuFAN. Why don't you ask my wife ? 

Qualtrough. She would tell Miss Appleyard I 
had been asking. Besides I called there this morning. 
She's away for the day, down at Wisbech on hospital, 
work. 

SuFAN. That's right. So she is. Up to her eyes 
in everything outside her own home. . . . By Jove, 
you young fellows go love-making in a queer way 
nowadays. When I was young I kissed the girl 
iiTBt and asked if there was consum_ption in the family 
afterwards. Ah , now I'm vulgar, eh ? 



44 ADVERTISEMENT. 

QuALTROUGH. Oh no. I looked like that because 
■you misunderstand. Frankly, I'm head over heels in 
love with Miss Appleyard, and I shall ask her to 
marry me anyway, but when you're storming a 
fortress, Sufan, you must know its weak points. 

SuFAN. Pah ! What an old-fashioned fellow you 
are. . . . What are you afraid of ? 

QuALTROUGH. That she'll refuse me. 

Sufan. Why ? You've got a salary, you look 
honest and your features are not absolutely repellent. 

QUALTROUGH (laughing). It isn't that. ... I 
want to know something of Miss Appleyard's ancestry. 
My parentage mightn't be good enough. I'm the 
son of a commercial traveller. 

Sufan. By George ! That's good. Shake hands. 
Do you know who my father was ? No ? Well, he 
was what they call a music-haU jeweller. He made a 
living by hanging round saloon bars selling second- 
hand rings to third-rate music-hall artists. That's 
why I had to give £20,000. If the old man had been 
a tradesman with a shop half of that would have been 
sufficient. 

QuALTROUGH. I daresay. And if I were the son 
of a canon or a disreputable Honourable I shouldn't 
be bothering you with questions. 

Sufan. Scut. You write her down too proud. 
She'll jump at you, jump at you. The girls '11 throw 
themselves at anything in khaki, and quite right 
too ! 

QuALTROUGH. Why didn't she marry long ago ? 

Sufan. Man died, I tell you. Faithful to his 
memory. 

QuALTROUGH. Who was he ? 

Sufan. Um ? His name was Peg — or was it 
" the Peg " ? That was it. He was the eldest son 
and his mother called him " the Peg " — the peg to 
hang the title on, you know. 

QuALTROUGH. I thought as much. Big family? 

Sufan, . Lord — somebody . 



ADVERTISEMENT. 45 

QuALTROUGH [despairingly). Yes. From that to 
— a bagman's son. 

SuFAN You miserable devil. Here, try a; dose of 
the old Staminal. That's what you want. Pay a 

dime and drink a dollar. Pay a dime and drink a ■ 

Damn it, though, you're right about this breeding 
business. I'm a father. My son wouldn't care a 
tinker's curse if he never saw me again. 

QuALTROUGH. How's he getting on ? 

SuFAN. He doesn't write to me. He only writes 
to his mother. She gives me the letters. Here they 
are. [He pulls out a packet from a drawer in the table.) 
He's somewhere in German South-West Africa. He's 
been in one or two scraps. When the war broke out 
I was glad he was stationed in South Africa. But it 
seems there's plenty of hard fighting over there. . . . 
Damn it. He might drop me a line. (There is a 
break in the big man's voice.) 

QuALTROUGH (after a painful pause). Do you 
write ? 

SuFAN. Yes. I humble myself. I send him 
plenty of money. . . . By God, Qualtrough, if my 
business smashes my boy will be done. 

Qualtrough. He's selfish. You shouldn't think 
so much of him. 

SuFAN (after some moments in which he gives the 
impression that he is thinking of his boy). You pay a 
dime and drink a . . . 

(The telephone bell rings.) 

(Speaking into telephone.) Send them both up. I 
expect Pym and Hext as well. Send them straight 
up as soon as they come. 

Qualtrough. Who is it ? 

SuFAN. Mudie and Woods. We're pow- wowing 
at twelve. First time you've been in this room, isn't 
it ? It's what I call my Idea Factory. When you 
catch me in here you can guess that something's going 



4^ ADVERTISEMENT. 

to happen. [He glances at his watch.) Well, I wish 
you luck, bonny. 

QuALTROUGH. Do you mean to-night or out in 
France ? 

SuFAN. Everywhere, bonny. Don't look so 
miserable about it. She won't eat you. 

QuALT^ouGH. I've interviewed everybody in 
Europe from a crowned head to an opera dancer and 
always got what I wanted, but {very, very gloomily) 
that sort of luck doesn't last for ever. 

SuFAN [after groaning in sympathy). Look here, 
bonny, get out quick. I've got my own troubles. 

OuALTROUGH. Very well. [He rises and ambles 
uneasily to the door.) Eight hours to wait. Actually 
eight hours. And not a man in the length and 
breadth of London with an atom of sympathy in 
his composition. 

(Duncan Mudie ani Willoughby Woods enter. 
Woods wears morning coat and silk hat. Mudie 
is in a short overcoat.) 

Woods. Ah, Qualtrough, and how are you ? 

QuALTRoyoH. Well, I don't mind confessing that 
rrri not quite my own bright self. 

Mudie. You're in the right colour, anyway. 

Qualtrough. Yes. Nothing serious. Staff inter- 
preter. I ain't no thin drab hero. (He is leaving 
the room.) 

SuFAN. Half a sec', bonny. Take ihese with you. 
(He gives him a couple of bottles.) The old Staminal. 
Don't forget the poster. Keep you dry in the trenches. 

(Qualtrough takes the bottles and exit laughingly.) 

Mudie. Good-morning, Mr. Sufan. 

SuFAN. Good-morning, boys. Qualtrough's in 
love. Don't expect him to be civil. Take a seat. 
Smoke if you want to. I'm going to give you hell. 
(He sits at the head of the table.) 

Woods (moving across the room and stopping to 



ADVERTISEMENT. 47 

survey the legend on the blackboard). Ho ! ho ! Have 
we earned that already ? 

(MuDiE sits on Sufan's left.) 

SuFAN. You have. Sure sellers you are. Give 
you the money, you do the rest. Oh, I guess adver- 
tising is worth the money. 

Woods. Sure thing it is. Did I ever tell you how 
I sold the Luck Stone ? . . . It was a little chunk 
of red sandstone with a silver band round it. We 
had thousands of 'em made at ten cents and sold 
'em for two dollars. 

SuFAN (sulkily). How? 

Woods. Advertisement, sir, advertisement. We 
guaranteed nothing. We told the public to buy the 
stone and watch out if they v/ouldn't strike rich in 
ten days. We promised nothing, but we begged to 
draw the world's attention to what Charles P. Sultz, 
of Rickville, Ohio, said, "Within three days of acquir- 
ing your lucky stone, rich uncle died and left me a 
fortune." We didn't promise this all round, mark 
you, but what happened to Charles P. Sultz might 
happen to anybody, and if folk didn't get the luck 
they could send the stone back inside the ten days 
and their two dollars would be refunded. 

MuDiE. Weil, ye got them back in bushels, I'm 
thinking. 

Woods. Right enough, sonny, but it's a queer 
thing that 999 out of every thousand kept the stone 
till the eleventh day. 

(MuDiE laughs.) 

SuFAN. H'm. There's human nature in that. 

(Enter Bert Pym, followed by John Hext. Hext 
wears a dark lounge suit and bowler. On his coat 
is a badg& indicating that he belongs to a drilling 
Qprps. Pym wea.rs a dark blue lounge suit with rather 
-n .^ort jacket. On his head is a silk hat which 



48 ADVERTISEMENT. 

stops there, though at varying angles, throughout 
the act.) 

Pym. Ha, ha. The conspirators are assembled 
How are you, dear boy ? [He shakes hands with 

SUFAN.) 

SuFAN. All wrong. Take a seat. Morning, 
Johnny. Come along, Woods. 

Pym (moving below table). I'll cheer you up. The 
brightest little wheeze you ever heard of. And dirt 
cheap. (He sits on the right of the table in the chair 
nearest the footlights.) 

(Woods sits on Sufan's right.) 

SuFAN. It will have to be, bonny. There's no 
money. Absolutely moratoriumed. 

(All four laugh disbelievingly.) 

Hext. Lost a sixpence, old man ? I daresay we 
might buy a lunch for you. (He sits on the left of the 
table below Mudie.) 

Pym. Listen. Have you ever seen a child's set of 
bricks ? This sort of thing. (He pulls out a toy 
model brick, gaily coloured.) They manufactured one 
and a half million sets a year of these in Germany 
alone. Now we're collaring the trade. Taking it up 
properly too. And, dear boy, I have an option with 
the three leading firms on the job. 

SuFAN. Do you want me to start a toy shop ? 

Pym. Wait a bit, dear boy. You know how they 
get these things up. Look at that one. (He throws 
it down on the table to Sufan.) The idea is to teach 
kids the alphabet. A for Apple, B for Banana, C 
for Canary, and so on. Well, laddie, what would 
you say to your little friend if he got you the option 
on the letter S ? 

Sufan. Well ? 

Pym. Instead of S for Strawberry or S for Sugar, 
or S for Saucepan — supposing every kid in the world 



i^DVERTISEMENT. 49 

was brought up from youth to know that S stood for 
Sufan's Staminal Syrup. How's that for teaching 
the young idea to shoot ? 

SuFAN. It's smart, bonny, very smart. But I 
can't pay. By George, I'm losing faith. 

Woods (slowly and curiously). Are you hum- 
bugging or not, Sufan ? 

SuFAN. I am not. My business is going ... 
I'm very much up against it. 

Hext. Just a bad patch, Luke. Not a fall bn 
last equivalent. 

Sufan. A damned big drop on last equivalent. 
Last half year's trading showed no profit, all but a loss. 
We've dropped- heavily every month for six months. 

(Pym whistles.) 

MuDiE. Is that what weVe foregathered about 
this morning ? 

Sufan. It is. Now, bonnies, I don't want to be 
misunderstood. You're my sellers. You cut up 
between you the largest sum spent on advertising 
by any individual firm in London — you, Woods, with 
the bill-posting, you, Bert, with the stunts, and you 
two lads with the press. You've done it well as far 
as I could judge, and you've been pals about it. 
But the scheme's suddenly stopped working. The 
Staminal won't seU. What have you got to say ? 

MuDiE. Well, it's very extraord 

Sufan. Let Johnny speak first. 

Hext. Perhaps, Luke, the war 

Sufan. This began before the war. 

Hext. Well, Luke, it's not a thing to jump to 
conclusions about. I've told you, of course, long 
ago that you ought to spend more on the papers than 
on the ' hoardings and stunts. 

Pym {cutting in sharply). You've seen that so often 
in the papers that you believe it. The stunt's the 
thing. Get people talking and laughing about it. 
Now if I 



60 ADVERTISEMENT. 

MUDIE (interrupting). Och awa', Bert, the press 
is the best for a patent medicine, especially the 
religious press. 

Woods. The rates are too high in anything with 
a circulation to show a 

Hext [also interrupting). You keep your eye on 
the other things of our sort that sell. Plenty of space 
and plenty of dignity — that's what does it over here. 
I don't say [pointing to the blackboard) that sort of 
thing isn't all right for America. But here you want 
just a simple statement of fact. 

Pym {sneering). Yes. " Sufan's Is It " or 
" Sufan's is Some Medicine." It's no good. There's 
too many of 'em at it. You must get a new noticm- 

MuDiE. I've spent the best part of three Vv^eeks 
getting testimonials from well-known men who are 
acting as special constables. I've got some of the 
very best. Is it all going to be wasted ? 

Woods. Ah, the public's sick of the dodge. Foot- 
ballers and cricketers and boxers, celebrities of any 
sort — the public doesn't associate itself with them. 
You get the name of the stuff drowned in the story 
and the photo. Buy the same space and put three 
words only in it — Sufan's Staminal Syrup. That's 
enough. Get the name big. Shout at 'em. This 
isn't America, where they're looking out for you to be 
clever. 

Hext. Ah, you've got to say something, Woodsey. 
Let 'em know it's not a bath fluid, anyway. 

Woods. Don't believe it. It's necessary for some 
things such as books. I saw a bill at Charing Cross 
bookstall the other day. " New Novel by W. W. 
Jacobs. Very funny." Well, that's commonsense. 
But the less you tell 'em about a patent medicine 
the better. What are you laughing at ? (To Mudie, 
who has been chuckling.) 

Mudie. I suppose if they sold the Bible they'd 
advertise it as " very religious." 

Pym. Don't you reckon you've had value, Sufan ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 61 

SuFAN. I had value. I'm not getting it now. 
That's the point. Why is it ? 
Hext. H'm. Why ? 

[He knows very well and so do the others.) 

MuDiE. Imphm ! 

Pym. Ah! Why? 

Woods. I don't suppose any of us is guessing. 

SuFAN (angrily). Now that won't do, Woodsey. 
You said money enough would force the sale of the 
wofst thing. 

Woods. Who said it was the worst thing ? 

SUFAN. Oh, hell ! I know what you're thinking. 

Hext. Well, Luke, I'll be honest. ... Of 
course, it isn't quite ... is it ? 

SuFAN. No. Nor are half a dozen others. 

MuDiE. Ah ! The public don't think so. 

SuFAN [very sharply). Ah? Look here. Damn 
you all ! Have you been taking my money under 
false pretences ? Have you known that this thing 
would collapse ? 

Hext. Luke, Luke ! Steady, old man. 

SuFAN. Well, you're all callous enough about it. 
You don't seem struck off your feet much by the 
sm9.sh. How does Mudie come to know that the 
public believe in the rival goods ? I'll swear you've 
seen this coming. Why weren't you honest enough 
to tell me ? 

Woods. Now, Sufan, • dofi'^t shout at us. We 
built the business up. You know it. You've had a 
big lump out of it. If it drops, it drops no sooner 
than you expected. 

Sufan. What do you mean ? 

Woods. What I say. You knew the precise 
quahties of this wretched Syrup long before you 
called us in. It would never sell on its merits. 
You got us to bluff the public. We succeeded and 
you picked up a parcel. Surely you didn't think it 
was going to keep you all your life. Be square now. 



52 ADVERTISEMENT. 

You know as well as any one of us here that the 
advertising's not to blame. It's simply the fact that 
the public have found the blessed stuff out. 

SuFAN. If it's that ! If it's that ! Oh, curse it, 
if it's that ! 

Woods. Why ? You've squeezed the lemon dry. 
Chuck it awa}/ and start squeezing another. 

SuFAN. Start again ! By George, you're pretty 
glib. 

MuDiE. I've had terrible trouble with the special 
constables. They all wanted to be funny about it, 
Galbraith said it made his hair grow. 

fVV^ooDS, Pym and Hext laughs. Sufan turns his 
head slowly, and fixes his eye on Mudie.) 

Pym. I usually lock my samples up, but I left a 
bottle lying about once and my wife got it. We had 
awful trouble with her. 

Sufan. Is that Galbraith, the famous novelist ? 

Mudie. The very s.ame. 

Sufan. Let me see his letter. I've never read 
his books, but he's a man who knows how to advertise 
himself all right. 

(Mudie produces it from an inner pocket and hands 
it over to Sufan,) 

Woods. When you come to think of it, it has had 
a good run. I've handled things before made up by 
a real good chemist, and they've — 

Sufan. He's not joking. (His eyes on the letter.) 
I'm damned if he's joking. " Dear Mr. Mudie," he 
says, " I've drunk two bottles and I don't hke it. 
It had no effect on me except to make my hair grow 
substantially. I've had to have a haircut for the 
first time for three years." He's not joking. Have 
you seen him ? 

Mudie. Yes. It's quite right. It did make his 
hair grow, but what's the good of that to us ? 

Sufan. What's— the— good— of— that— to— us ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 55 

You thick-headed, short-sighted owl of a Scotchman • 
MuDiE. But we're not selHng a hair restorer. 
SuFAN. Not selhng it ! Not selHng it ! Of course 

not. (His voice rises to a roar.) But we shall sell it. 

[The others prick up their ears at once.) 

Woods. Hello ! Hello ! You've hit a scent. 
By Jove, you've hit a scent. 

SuFAN. You say my Staminal is found out— that 
it don't cure that run-down feeling, that the public is 
as anaemic after, as it was before — then, by all the 
powers, I'll wrap it up in a new cover. 

Woods. Good boy ! Good boy ! That's the 
talk. 

SuFAN. Think of all my tons of stock ! It'll be 
as easy as A. B.C. to re-colour it and make it a bit 
thicker. Sufan's Scalp Cream ! How does that 
sound ? 

Hext. Luke, you're a geilius. Sufan's Scalp 
Cream ! 

, Pym. Sufan's Scalp Cream' ! Holy crikey, he's 
hit it. 

SuFAN. Look here ! The stuff'll do. 

(He pulls out a bottle of the Staminal from the drawer 
in the table and whips the covers off.) 

It doesn't smell. 

(He sniffs it himself and jerks it under the noses of 

Woods and Mudie.) 
It ain't sticky. 

(He dips his fingers in and rubs some on his hair.) 

It's the softest snap I ever struck. Makes it glossy, 
doesn't it ? (He drops his head for inspection.) 

Mudie. Good Lord, man ! Galbraith didn't 
put it on his hair. He drank it. 

SuFAN. So he did, bonny. So he did. We'll 
tell 'em to take it both ways. "Drink it up aad 
rub it in." They'll use twice as much. " 



54 ADVERTISEMENT. 

Pym (clapping his hands). Ha ! Ha ! This does 
me good ! Good old Sufie. You'll get back home 
with it. I swear you will. 

Woods. Get home ? He'll canter it. It's the 
dandiest idea. But you mustn't drop the Staminal 
all at once, sonny. 

SuFAN. No fear. No fear. We'll let it go 
gradually. Let it drop while the war lasts, reduce 
the advertising and switch on to this. 

Woods. That's the game. That's the game. 
By Jove, you're hot in here. (He rises and goes to 
the window c.) 

SuFAN. Get your brains busy, boys. We'll set 
*em alight all right. Bless my soul, if life isn't the 
funniest thing in this world. 

Hext. Hurroo for the Scalp Cream! Josh ! 
Won't we make some of the old firms sit up. 

Pym. Thank goodness you've got plenty of hair, 
Sufie. Your picture'll have to go on the bottle. 

SuFAN. So it shall, bonny, so it shall. (He is 
in high glee.) Bonnies, this makes me feel ten years 
younger. 

(MuDiE and Hext are whispering excitedly to each 

other.) 

Pym. Good lad ! Put your hair straight. We 
ought all to lunch together on this. 

SuFAN (as quick as lightning). I will, bonny, I 
will. It's very kind of you. You shall all take me 
down to the Cafe Royal. 

(He gets out a pocket comb and glass and puts his 
hair to rights. Woods throws up the window and 
the noise of passing traffic and newsboys' calls enters 
the room.) 

What are you boys (speaking to Hext and Mudie) 
plotting about ? 

(Pym joins Woods at the window.) 



ADVERTISEMENT. 53 

HsxT. We're trying to fix on the best time to 
start. 

SuFAN. Right away, bonnies, right away. In 
a small way, first, while trade's bad and then 

Hext. You wait a bit, Luke. Here's the scheme 
of space bookings for the old Staminal, most of which 
this new hair restorer will take over. 

SuFAN. Quite so. Quite so. 

Hext. Well, I make May the best on what we've 
got, but we can spread a good bit more, of course, 
if you want it. 

SuFAN. Quite so. Give me the paper. (He 
takes it and scans it carefully.) 

Woods {still at window). ^What's that on the 
bill ? " Desperate Fighting in German South- West 
Africa." 

Pym. Where ? By Jove, yes. 

SuFAN [throwing the paper down). Don't pay any 
attention to that. Get out a new scheme. I want 
it everywhere, here, America and the Colonies by 
the Spring. We'll have the blighters out of Belgium 
by then. It's unlucky to wait. 

Woods. I say, Sufan. Your l)oy is in German 
South- West Africa, isn't he ? 

Sufan. Yes, bonny. (Jokingly.) Shall we give 
him an agency ? 

Woods. Look at that bill. 

(Sufan goes to the window and looks out.) 

Sufan. What bill ? " Probables and Selections 
from Plumpton ? " 

Woods. No, no, the other. 

Sufan (gasping). " Desperate Fighting in Ger- 
man South- West Africa." 

Hext and Mudie (looking up). What's that ? 

Sufan (with a dry throat). My boy might be in 
it. Little beggar's sure to get a scratch or two if 
there are any going. (He rings a bell.) Rare little 



^6 ADVERTISEMENT. 

chap for a shindy. He was always fighting at school. 
I'd give 

(Miss Makins appears at the door.) 

Send out for a paper, Miss Makins. Look sharp. 

(Woods shuts down the window.) 

Miss Makins. Yes, sir. 

(Exit Miss Makins.) 

Hext. I thought the rebels were finished with. 

Sufan. Not yet, bonn}^ And there are German 
troops out there. There's a lot about it in the boy's 
letters. (He takes out the bundle of letters from the 
drawer.) Listen to this one. (He reais.) " You'll 
be bucked to hear Lm in camp on active service. 
My address is — The Censorship forbids my saying 
anything else. We are in the enemy's country and 
have been in action, and may be engaged again at 
any time. We have had a few killed, but the 
enemy -" 

(At this moment Randolph Oualtrough enters. 
'His face is white and his movements jerky. He 
carries an evening paper.) 

" ; — ^lost more. Routine work keeps me busy. End- 
less guards, pickets, patrols, inspections, exercises 
and occasional niglit marches through wild country 
ending in early morning attempts to surprise the 
enemy." (He sees Qualtrough.) Hello, bonny ! 

QUALTROUGH. Sufau 

Sufan. Yes ? 

(Miss Makins appears carrying a telegram. She 
looks very troiihled and frightened. Qualtrough 
snatches the telegram from her and waves her from 
the room.) 

Qualtrough. Sufan . . . I 

Sufan. That wire's for me, bonny, isn't it ? 
(He goes to take it.) 



ADVERTISEMENT. 57 

(QuALTROUGH draws it back. Sufan becomes suddenly 
rigid and stares into Qualtrough's eye.) 

The boy ? (The words come ache-laden from the heart 
and are barely audible. ) 

QuALTROUGH. God help you ! 

(The big man's face works convulsively. He sways. 
QuALTROUGH goes to him, but he breaks roughly 
from him.) 

SUFAN. He is killed ? 

(QuALTROUGH inclines his head. The oViers all watch 
the mans agony with drawn breath. He totters 
to his chair at the head of the table and sinks into 
it. He buries his head. Pym removes his hat. 
First from the collapsed man comes a sound of great 
indrawing, a great feeding of the airless lungs. Now 
comes the great cry. He loved as only the Jewish 
father can love. In his cry is his agony. So Vir- 
ginius cried on the bier of Virginia. All the pain 
is in the one cry. Then there is silence. The 
man is motionless.) 

Pym (sobs and cries). Oh God ! Oh God \ 

(Hext, a good Catholic, mikes a rapid sign of the 
Cross. Woods pick'^ up his hat an i quietly walks 
from the room. Mudie follows him. Then Hext 
goes, his old head shaking. He seem^ older and 
more stooped. Pym goes now, still crying '' Oh 
God ! Oh God ! " under his breath) 

(QuALTROUGH opcns the telegram and reads it, put- 
ting it again in his pocket. The telephone rings. 

QuALTROUGH gOCS tO it.) 

QuALTROUGH. Miss Appleyard ? Yes. It is 
Qualtrough speaking. Yes, yes. He has just had 
a duphcate telegram. . . . You are going to Wis- 
bech to fetch her ? . . . God bless you. What's the 
time of the train. I'U be at Liverpool Street and 



68 ADVERTISEMENT. 

go down with you. Yes, yes. I'll be there. Good- 
bye. 

{After the soft closing of the door behind Pym, Sufan 
had lain in silence. Now his shoidders move and 
he begins to blubber. The great tragedy of his agony 
is over. He is rather pitying himself.) 

QuALTROUGH. Shall I tell you how he died ? 

Sufan (between his sobs). Yes . . . Tell m^ 
... Oh Got 1 Mein Got ! How did it happen ? 

QuALTROUGH {opening his evening pap3r). It's 
a very bald account just over the cable. Your boy's 
name is mentioned for {he pauses) acts of extra- 
ordinary bravery. He went out in the face of 
machine gun fire twice and saved two of his fellow 
offizers. He died of his wounds — like a hero. That 
must be your only consolation. His name will be 
in every one's mouth. 

Sufan. He's gone . . . Oh, bonny, I can't stand 
it ... I'd have given anything to have kept just 

him. And he didn't I wonder if he thought 

of his old father, Qualt rough, when they were shoot- 
ing. Did he know what it would mean to me ? 

QuALTROUGH. He surely thought of you — all. 

Sufan. It would have been much better if I'd 
gone instead of him. . . . Mein kleiner zuneshi, 
mein kleiner oystev ! Dershossen zu weren ! (My 
little sonny. My little chap ! To be shot down !) 
Oh Got ! (Oh God !) He was ashamed of me. He 
never wrote to me. He hated me. He must have 
hated me. Mein Got. I can't stand it. 

{The tears stream down his face and he constantly dabs 
them away with a handkerchief.) 

He only cared for his mother. 

QuALTROUGH. His mother ! She doesn't know 
yet. Miss Appleyard opened the telegram and I 
am going down to Wisbech now. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 59 

SuFAN. That's right, bonny, you must, you must 
. . I can't. I can't. I won't. 

QuALTROUGH. I will ask Miss Appleyard to tell 
her. 

SuFAN. Yes, yes. Ask Miss Appleyard. Tell 
her I can't . . . come home. \ 

QuALTROUGH. She will understand. 

(Miss Makins appears at the door.) 

Miss Makins. Oh, sir, excuse me ; but there are 
two reporters asking to see you. I begged them 
to go away, but they 

QUALTROUGH. What papers ? 

Miss Makins (glancing at the two cards she holds 
in her hand). The Central Association and the Press 
Syndicate. 

QUALTROUGH {to Sufan). Will you see them ? 
I think you should if you can bear it. . . . Remem- 
ber your boy is a national hero and the public has a 
right to 

Sufan. Oh, I can't. I can't. . . . Yes, yes, 
I suppose I must. Yes, bonny. I understand. 
I'll see them. Just those two. No more. 

QuALTROUGH. Send them in. Miss Makins. 

(Miss Makins nods and retires.) 

Don't let them distress you too much. Just tell 
them what they want to know and send them away. 
Then lock the door and try and compose yourself. 
You have to meet your wife soon. If you are brave 
it will fall more softly on her. {He places his news- 
paper on the table by Sufan.) 

Sufan. That's right, bonny. You're a pal, a 
good pal. Come back for me when you can pre- 
sently. Take me home. Mein Got. I do feel all 
alone. 

(The door opens to admit two Reporters The first 
to speak is of gi.n'lemanly appearance and manner. 



60 ADVERTISEMENT. 

The other is of common typ3, and only removes his 
howler hat as an afterthought.) 

OuALTROUGH. Good-mornin^. This is Mr. Sufan. 

(OuALTROUGH glances at his watch and exit hurriedly.) 

1ST Reporter. We are very sorry, sir, to have 
had to come at such a sad moment. 

2ND Reporter. Awfully. {His expression clashes 
with his speech.) 

SuFAN. Don't worry, bonnies. (The sob is still 
in his voice.) The pubhc must be served. I'm 
only a servant. Sit down. 

{He dries his eyes and makes an effort to compose him- 
self. The two Reporters sit in the two chairs on 
the left of the table and produce notebooks.) 

1ST Reporter. This Mr. Sufan was your son, 
sir, I understand. 

Sufan. Yes. 

1ST Reporter. Your only son ? 

Sufan. My only c'lild. (Tears again co7ne into 
his eyes.) 

1ST Reporter. And his age was 

Sufan. Twenty-two and six-twelfths. 

1ST Reporter. H3 was a secand heutenant in 
the Wessex FusiUers ? 

Sufan. Yes. 

1ST Reporter. How long had he been in Africa ? 

Sufan. Barely six months. 

2ND Reporter. Do 3^6u mind saying where he 
was educated ? 

Sufan. Repton and Jesus, Cambridge. 

1ST Reporter. Any letters from him lately ? 

Sufan. Yes. He wrote ... I have some here. 

1ST Reporter. The last one, Mr. Sufan. Any- 
thing of interest in it ? 

Sufan (producing the letters). They were always 
VM-y interesting. This is the last one. Do you 
W-int ua? to read it ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 61 

1ST Reporter. Anything about his Hfe ? Any 
personal detail. I'm sorry to worry you, Mr. Sufan, 
but the public will be crazy to know the least thing 
about him. 

Sufan. I'll read one to you and 5^ou can write 
down what you want. (He reads in a broken husky- 
voice.) " I was awfully glad to get your letter the 
day before Christmas. We had no letters for three 
weeks, which made it all the more fierce.- Still in 
the desert. The game is shy, but we managed to 
bump (a sob) into a strong force of thern a week ago. 
We emerged from the rough up quite all right, with 
two. of ours killed. The Kultur outfit lost more. 
The everlasting dust wind in the desert makes of 
life no blooming picnic. Bivouacking by da}/ is 
putrid "—I think it's putrid, but it's blotted—" it 
relieves the monotony when enemy aeroplanes drop 
bombs on us as they do ever}/ now and then. {A 
sob.) The last one killed and injured seven men 
close to me. It's a weird experience when you see 
the Taube high overhead suddenly turn in towards 
camp, and the shell hisses its way to earth. We 
will all be fearfully bucked when the advance pene- 
^,^^„^ trates to the good lands of the interior. That will 
^ r.r\ happen soon now by all counts, though there'll be 
(At 1^*^™^ very stffl scrapping before we get through the 
' ij /hills. Fancy washing every day ! What epicurean, 
lu^ — — " What's that word ? Lucullan, is it ? — 
" Lucullan luxury. I am quite well and fit, and get 
outside the . army rations of bully and biscuit in 
something under evens every time. It is estimated 
that this column alone devoured 27,000 plum pud- 
dings sent by the South African Committees. This, 
if known, would be a frightful warning to the Hun. 
Good-bye now, darling mother. Your loving son, 
Seton." 

(Sufan breaks down again and buries his head in his 

arms.) 



62 ADVERTISEMENT. 

1ST Reporter {after a pause, in which he gives 
SuFAN time to recover). Was your son, sir, the Seton 
Sufanwho broke the 'Varsily record for the hundred 
yards ? 

SuFAN {still sobbing). That's right. He was in 
the cricket eleven too, 

1ST Reporter. I rem mber. What a splendid 
fellow he was ? 

2ND Reporter. And you, Mr. Sufan ? We may 
say that you 

Sufan. Is all this going in ? 

2ND Reporter. All we can ^et, I reckon. 

Sufan. Well, I'm— I'm in Who's Who. 

2ND Reporter. Oh, of course. But anything 
more personal ? 

Sufan. More personal ? {He rises and paces the 
room.) More personal. This'll be in all the papers, 
won't it ? — all over the world — 'America, Colonies, 
everywhere. Yes. . . . Well, I suppose they will 
want to know something about me. I'm his father. 
I'm his father. Why not that ? Why not ? Well, 
you can say — you can say — you can say that Mr. 
Sufan, seen at his City offices, though constantly 
interrupted by emotion, declared that the blow fell 
— ^more heavily on him as he was just about — as he 
is just preparing for a great new business departure. 

2ND Reporter. Ah, yes. What is that ? 

Sufan {warming to his subject). Say that Mr. 
Sufan, the inventor and proprietor of tlie Famous 
Staminal S^^rup, is about to put on the market a 
sensational discovery in the hair restorer line to be 
known as Sufan's Scalp Cream. Can you get that in ? 

2ND Reporter. We'll try 'em. 

Sufan {now slightly excited). I spend more on 
advertising than any other firm in London. It 
ought to go in. Say that tlie discovery was made 
accidentally b}^ a world-famed celebrity from whom 
Mr. Sufan bouglit the secret at fabulous cost. This 
Scalp Cream will be sold 



ADVERTISEMENT. 63 

1ST Reporter {drily). Is there anything further 
you can tell us about your son, Mr. Sufan ? 

Su^AN. Eh ? 

1ST Reporter. Was he by any chance engaged 
to be married ? 

Sufan. Oh no. You can say that the tragic 
event won't interfere with the production of the new 
speciality which will be on sale in every country of 
the globe not later than 

1ST Reporter. I don't think we need keep you 
any longer, Mr. Sufan. I am very much obliged to 
you. Good morning. 

(He leaves the room.) 

2ND Reporter. Not later than when? 

Sufan. September, bonny. Do you think you 
can get it in ? 

2ND Reporter. Well, if you were to specially 
make a point of asking me straight, Mr. Sufan, I 
might 

Sufan. I know, bonny. And why not, eh ? 
Good morning. You're a sensible chap. 

(He shakes hands with him and while doing so passes 
over a five pound note.) 

2ND Reporter. Thank you, sir. I'm sure I 
hope it will go all right. 
Sufan. Thank you, bonny. 

(Exit 2ND Reporter.) 

I'm sure it ought to. (He picks up the bottle on the 
table and smells it, and examines it again.) Yes, it 
ought to. It ought to. 

(Enter Miss Makins carrying a letter.) 

Miss Makins. This has just come for you, sir. 
Seeing what the postmark is I thought you'd like 
to get it at once. 

Sufan. Eh ? (He takes the letter.) By Jove, 



64 ADYERTISEMEJ^T. 

it's from the boy. Oh, my dear, my dear girl, he's 
written to his old father ! 

Miss Makins. You won't want to be bothered 
with the letters, sir, will 570U ? 

SuFAN. No. But there's one I want to go off 
at once. Sit down a minute. {He tears the letter 
open and hastily scans it.) Oh listen, listen. He's 
written to me. (His voice is breaking rather with 
ioy than with sorrow.) " Dear father. Please don't 
send me any more money. I really don't want you 
to. I can live quite well on my pay. If you send 
me more, I shall send it back really. Yours, Seton." 
He didn't want me to give him my mioney. Oh, 
my ""dear, my dear, he must have liked me after all. 
He didn't want my money. That must have been 
the last letter he wrote. (He kisses it.) Dos teure 
ingele ! (The dear lad !) He didn't want to be a 
burden to his old father. Oh, mein teuer, teuer 
kind ! (Oh, my dear, dear boy.) (He is crying 
almost happily.) You mustn't bother about me, 
Miss Makins. You see ... it was the first . . . 
the first letter — and just before he was killed. . . . 
Oh yes, the letter for you. It's only a little one, 
but it's urgent. Put it down. 

(Miss Makins pulls the typewriter towards her and 
proceeds to type the letters.) - 

It's for Thurston and Thurston, the poster people. 
" Gentlemen. Let me have design's as quickly as 
possible for a new poster. I want a pretty girl, 
head and shoulders and plenty of hair." Under- 
line " plenty." " The more hair the better. Get 
an R.A. to do it if you can — three or four colour. I 
don't mind. The lettering will be simple, just 
' Sufan's Scalp Cream Done It/ Yours faithfully." 

Miss Makins. "Done It." Wouldn't "Did 
It " be better ? 

SuFAN. Eh? No. We'll have "Done It." 
It isn't good grammar but people don't stop to look 



ADVERTISEMENT. 6S 

at good grammar. . . . Wby didn't he want any 
money ? The dear lad ! I'd. rather he'd have had 
it. Mein Got ! I'd rather he'd have had it. . . . 
Add a postscript, my dear. Tell 'em it must be a 
fair girl. Golden hair, piles of golden. That's what 
women want. You can be the model for the picture. 
Miss Makins. Yes, I'd rather he'd have had it. 
But he didn't want it. Didn't want to bleed me. 
The lad wouldn't do that. Still, it's funny. He 
knew the money was nothing to me. I never refused 
any money, eh, Miss Makins ? I shouldn't have got 
where I am if I'd started by refusing money. (He 
almost chuckles.) He wasn't the son of his fathe?. 

{She hands Mm the typed letter.) 

By Jove, he wasn't the son of his father. (He dips 
a pen in the ink and signs the letter.) 



Curtain. 



ACT III 

AFTER THE WAR. 

Scene. — The Music Room, 31^, A flingtoh Street. (As 
in Act I.) 

The mirror which surmounted the mantelpiece in the 
first act has gone and its place is taken by a large, 
full length oil painting of Seton Sufan. There are 
spring flowers in the room now. On a shelf of the 
music cabinet against' the left wall are about a dozen 
pink monthly Army Lists and three or four quarterly 
Army Lists. 

(When the curtain rises Miss Appleyard is discovered 
at the piano. She is softly playing the same air as 
played by Mrs. Sufan towards the opening of Act 
I, Randolph Oualtrough is sitting on the settee 
by the fire, r. Miss Appleyard may wear what 
she likes but one imagines her in a Dolly Varden 
costume of print,, black or dark blue stones round her 
white throat, and her very glorious hair piled high. 
Every man over forty in the audience should say : 
" If that beggar in the light grey lounge suit doesn't 
get up quick and hug her Til do it myself.") 

QuALTROUGH (with a note of excitement in his voice). 
How wet it was last Thursday \ 

Miss Appleyard. Indeed, yes. Let's see. To- 
day is Thursday. It is just a week ago since it was 
wet. 

Qualtrough (twitching with emotion). Just a 
week. March is usually — awful, of course. 

66 



ADVERTISEMENT. 67 

Miss Apple yard. It will be April on Saturday. 

QuALTROUGH. By Jove, so it will. April on 

Saturday. April on Saturday. April on Saturday. 

(He repeats the phrase again and again to keep him 
from, fainting with excitement,., just as Oscar Wilde 
ipould say " Poison from Paris, Poison from 
Paris ! ") 

Miss Appleyard. "Oh, to be in England " 

what is that quotation ? 

QuALTROUGH. April on Saturday ! 

(He gets up and, with a courage that surprises him, 
goes near enough to her to enable him to sit on th^ 
chair above table c.) 

Miss Appleyard. I think it. was Browning, but 
I wouldn't bet. I always mix him up with Cowper, 
' don't you ? 

QuALTROUGH (gloomily). Is that the man who 
wrote Gray's Elegy in a country churchyard ? 

?Jiss Appleyard. Oh no, but he's the man who 
might have written it. 

QuALTROUGH. That's what I meant. It is the 
one thing that has deterred me from playing golf at 
Stoke Poges. 

Miss Appleyard (reproachfully). Oh, do you play 
golf ? ^ 

QuALTROUGH. Ell ? . . . Er — why ? 

Miss Appleyard. I don't like golfers. They 
seem to belong to another race — the people who 
existed before the war. 

QuaLtrough. I'm not much of a golfer. I only 
write to the papers about it. . . . 

(There is a silence. Qualtrough rises jerkily and 
goes to the piano to lean against the hollow of it.) 

Qualtrough. What's that you're playing ? 
Miss Appleyard. It's Mrs. Sufan's favourite. 
Very fascinating, isn't it ? I can't resist playing it. 



68 AX>VERTISEMENT. 

{She rises and crosses R. to sit on the settee, putting her 
feet up.) Busy just now ? 

QuALTROUGH. Oh yes. 

Miss Apple yard. Finished the book ? 

QuALTROUGH. Oh yes. That's why (He 

pauses.) 

Miss Appleyard. Yes ? 

QuALTROUGH. Well, I shouldn't be loafing about 
if I hadn't finished it. {He moves to the music cabinet 
and fiddles with the books.) 

Miss Appleyard. You certainly seem particu- 
larly aimless this morning. 

QuALTROUGH. Aimless ! (To himself.) Good 
Lord! 

Miss Appleyard. Why not come and sit beside 
me on the couch ? 

QuALTROUGH. May I ? There doesn't seem to 
be much room. 

Miss Appleyard. Don't be alarmed. I will 
move my feet. 

(He watches her move them and then he sits on the 
couch as far from her as possible. There is again 
an awkward pause.) 

QuALTROUGH. Are you going out ? 

Miss Appleyrrd. Very soon, I t'li'i c 

QuALTROUGH. Where is Mrs. Sufan ? 

Miss Appleyard She is out. 

QuALTROUGH. Yes ? . . . And Mr. Sufan ? 

Miss Appleyard. He is in. 

OuALTROUGH. Ycs ? Is he going out ? 

Miss Appleyard. Not till this afternoon. 

QuALTROUGH. Ah ! . . . Do you know where he 
is going ? 

Miss Appleyard (sighing). Yes. He is mayor af 
one of the South London boroughs, you know. I 
never remember which, but it's the one where his 
works are. The King goes there this afternoon to 
open a new hospital. He will have to be present. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 6d 

QUALTROUGH. I See. 

Miss Appleyard. I hope it will be fine. 

QuALTROUGH. Yes, indeed. 

(There is again a fause. Miss Appleyard rises and 
goes up stage a little. Then she comes down shyly 
and stands by his side.) 

Miss Apleyard. I really don't think I can wait 
any longer. 

QuALf rough. Ah ! Must you really go ? 

Miss Appleyard. I see I must help you out. 

QuALTROUGH. Miss Appleyard ! 

Miss Appleyard. I will marry you, dear, if you 
want me. 

QuALTROUGH [jumping to his feet). Eh ! . . . 
{He takes her left hand). Oh, you darhng ! You 
have guessed ! 

Miss Appleyard (demurely). Yes, dear, I have 
guessed. 

(He advances to her. She does not move, hut drops her 
head. He raises her head and kisses her lips. Then 
he draws hack speechless imth amazement at his 
temerity. Now she comes to him, imptdsively. She 
flings her arms round his neck and this time, as she 
is kissed, her knees give way under her so that he 
has to stipport her almost as if she were swooning in 
his arms. It is a kiss of abandonment in contrast to 
the first timorous salute.) 

QuALTROUGH. Rose, how you must despise me ! 
But I dreaded your refusal. It didn't seem possible 
that 

Miss Appleyard. You dear, dear thing. Sit down 
and then you won't look so long. 

[They hath sit on the couch.) 

You're not a bit modern and I like you all the better 
for it. 



70^. ADVERTISEMENT. 



' \» 



QuALTROUGH. You See, you' were engaged before 
and to such a 

Miss Appleyard. Oh yes. To Lord Callander. 
You're only my second lover and you were so slow. 
Dq you know what Callander did ? Took me by the 
scfuff of tlie neck, kissed me and said : " Now you 
belong to me, old Tiddley-winks, and any other 
bloke who comes along will get punched." 

QuAL:fROUGH. Did he ? 

Miss Appleyard. He did. Don't you wish now 
that you had his impudence ? 

QuALTROUGH. It isu't all my fault, darling. I 
was going to ask you on the very day when the news 
arrived of Seton's death. But, of course, that was 
hardly the occasion — ^well, I had to think of Mrs. 
Sufan and -. 

Miss ApPLEYAi^p. 0|i, I'm glad you didn't. I. 
wasn't nearly so keen on you then. 

QuALTROUGH. Oh, you weren't. 

Miss Appleyard. Oh no ! ... I think youVe 
grown on me, Randolph. Randolph ! Such a lovely 
name, and so distinguished ! 

QuALTROUGH. Think so ? 

Miss Appleyasd. Rather ! Our children are 
sure to be clever! 

QuALTROUGH. Hooray for "our children ! " 

Miss ' Appleyard. Oh, Randolph ! For how 
many weeks on end do you think you could be utterly 
idiotic ?- 

QUALTROUGH. Eternally. Let's make up our 
minds to be frivolous for^ever. 

(They kiss.) 

Miss Appleyard. When shall we marry ? 

QuALTROUGH. Well, to-day's Thursday, isn't it ? 
Friday's unlucky. I'm playing rackets on Saturday. 
Yes — ^all day. The trains are all rotten on Sunday. 
What about Monday morning ? 

Miss Appleyard. Dear old tyrant ! Ld marry 



ADVERTISEMENT. 71 

you this afternoon, Randolph, but you kftow there is 
somebody to be faced. 

QuALTROUGH. Mrs. Sufau. 

Miss Appleyard. I dread telling her. It will be 
awful. We are friends in a way that no man could 
understand, especially since Seton's death. . . . 
And she becomes more and more unhappy with her 
husband. 

QuALTROUGH. Surely he is good to her. 

Miss Appleyard. He does not knock her about, 
if that is what you mean. A man, especially one of 
his race, does not wilfully damage his property. I 
cannot say anything better of him than that. He 
seemed to soften and improve slightly about the 
time that Seton died but it all disappeared as soon as 
the new Scalp Cream began to boom. He is on the 
road to being a millionaire. Imagine what that will 
mean for Mrs. Sufan. And she will be really and truly 
all alone when I go. 

QuALTROUGH. But you will go. 

Miss Appleyard. Yes. Because I love you. 

(He takes her in his arms.) 

There is a mourner for every lover and a sigh for 
every kiss. (She kisses him.) It is very often when 
we are happiest that we are most cruel. It's no use 
worrying over it, Randolph. It's the game. It isn't 
cricket. But it's the game. (She gently releases 
herself.) 

(QuALTROUGH rises and goes to the fireplace R.) 

I wonder what she will do. I wonder what she will - 
do. 

(The door opens to admit Luke Sufan. He is cor- 
rectly and smartly dressed in black morning coat 
and grey trousers. The suit becomes him admirably 
and he undeniably cut a handsome figure. His 
hair is very carefidly dressed to suggest plenti fulness.) 



72 ADVERTISEMENT. 

QuALTROUGH. Ho, ho. Best party kit, eh ? 

Miss Appleyard. Doesn't he look smart ? 

SuFAN (who is m rare good spirits). Ha, ha I Fills 
the picture, doesn't it ? Yes, I think we shall manage 
to carry it off all right. 

QuALTROUGH [wJio knows quite well). But why this 
sartorial splendour to-day particularly ? 

SuFAN. To-day, bonny, I am to be preserited to 
the King. That's all. I'm to be presented to the 
King. Any remarks ? No ribald jeers, I take it. 
All in order and cash on delivery — Good Lord ! Sup- 
posing it rains ! 

Miss Appleyard. Is Mrs. Sufan going ? 

SuFAN. Eh ? I don't know. I suppose not 

Here, bonny I Miss Appleyard ! 

(They cofne to him and he holds them by the arms.) 

I've had the office. 

Miss Appleyard. The office t 

SuFAN. I've had the office, the nod, the tip, you 
know. I'm to be knighted this afternoon. (He 
chuckles.) 

Miss Appleyard. Really ! 

Sufan. Re-blooming-ally. 

QuALTROUGH. I congratulate you, Sufan. Splen- 
did ! 

(They shake hands. Miss Appleyard crosses to the 

fireplace.) 

Miss Appleyard. What will Mrs. Sufan say ?, 

Sufan. Ah, yes. Wait until the wife hears it. 
Eh ? Her Ladyship ! Her Ladyship ! Not yet, 
but at half past three sharp, " Her Ladyship." 
Ah, bonny, it means a lot to a woman. 

QuALTROUGH. Ycs, yes. As you say. It will 
mean a lot to her. ... So it has come at last. (He 
joins Miss Appleyard at the fireplace.) 

Sufan. Yes, bonny, at last. Can you fix me at 
21 scraping a fiddle for a guinea a night and now 



ADVERTISEMENT. 73 

Sir Luke, with the biggest patent medicine business 
in London and an option on a corner house in Gros- 
venor Square. Life's the funniest thing in the world. 
That's what I always say. 

(He actually executes a few steps of a cake walk. Qual- 
TROUGH and Miss Appleyard both laugh.) 

Won't the boys make a fuss, old Hext and Pym and 
the others ! The beggars ! They'll expect a cham- 
pagne lunch. Strictly, they ought to give me some- 
thing. There ought to be congratulatory dinner, 
oughtn't there ? {He 1ms his hack to them.) I wouldn't 
mind paying for the wines. Presentation portrait 
wouldn't be bad. Compliment to her Ladyship and 
all that. What do you say to 

(He turns and catches Qualtrough pressing Miss 
Appleyard 's hand.) 

Hello ! Hello ! Hello ! Bonny, you don't mean to 
say you've stormed the fortress at last. 

Qualtrough (laughing). Well, the fortress is 
mine at any rate. 

SuFAN. Well, for a chap of your length, you were 
the most chicken-hearted — but it's all right now, eh ? 

Miss Appleyard. We are engaged. He accepted 
me without a struggle. 

Sufan (laughing boisterously). It was that way, 
was it ? Well, V am glad. 

(He holds out his hands to Miss Appleyard and she 
puts hers in his.) 

I'll be very, very sorry when you go. Very, very 
sorry, my dear. Missus hasn't nagged half so much 
since you came. Can't stand her glaring at me if I 
make a bloomer. You choked her off a bit, I know. 
Yes, I'm very sorry you're going. Of course, she'll 
grizzle like blazes. (He walks away.) 

(Qualtrough and Miss Appleyard look a little 

awkward.) 



74 ADVERTISEMENT. 

. . . What on earth do you say when it's over ? Do 
you know, Qualtrough ? 

QuALTRoyGH. When it's over ? When it's over ? 
How do you mean ? 

SuFAN. Why, after you've been smacked and all 
that. 

Qualtrough. Oh-h-h ! You mean this afternoon, 
after the King has knighted you. 

SuFAN. Certainly, bonny. 

Qualtrough. What do you say ? Goodness 
knows ! 

Miss Apple yard. You can hardly say " Thanks 
awfully." {She crosses left.) 

SuFx\N, Get hold of the poker, Qualtrough. 

Qualtrough. The poker ! 

SuFAN. Yes. We'll have a rehearsal. But for 
goodness sake be careful. I got into an awful row 
once for poking the fire with that poker. It seems 
it's Flemish manufacture or something, too good 
to be useful. 

(Qualtrough gets the poker.) 

Now, look here, you say — what do you say ? 

Qualtrough. Well, I command you to kneel. 

SuFAN. That's right. . . . Which knee ? 

Miss Apple yard. Perhaps it's both knees. 

SuFAN. Don't be spiteful. One's bad enough. 
(He struggles down on one knee.) Now, which shoulder- 
do you tap on ? 

{Enter Mrs. Sufan.) 

Mrs. Sufan {in blank amazement). Whatever-— 
are — you — doing ? 

(Qualtrough puts hack the poker and Sufan struggles 
to his feet. Mrs. Sufan wears a goivn of slate and 
deep purple. It owes nothing to Bakst hut will he 
ascribed to him by many of the audience who ought to^ 
know better. On her head is a hat that is a decora- 



ADVERTISEMENT. 75 

Hon not a head-covering. The mark of Her recent 
loss is upon her, but hers is a face that is rather 
beautified by tragedy.) 

SuFAN {ignoring her astonishment). Hello, my dear. 
You're back early. And just in time, just in time. 
What do you think has happened since you went out ? 

Mrs. Sufan. I have no idea. 

SuFAN. Ha, ha ! Had a visitor. Little chap 
with a bow and arrow. Fired two shots and 

Mrs. Sufan. What is he talking about, Mr. 
Qualtrough ? 

Qualtrough. Mrs. Sufan, I — he means that 
Miss Appleyard has promised to be my wife. 

Mrs. Sufan (turning and fixing her eyes on Miss 
Appleyard). You! You a:e going!-. . , I con- 
gratulate you both. . . . You will be very happy, 
Mr. Qualtrough. 

(She holds out her hand and he shakes it. Miss Apple- 
yard rises. Mrs. Sufan seems to be about to go to 
her and kiss her but instead she leaves the room very 
quietly. There is a pause. Miss Appleyard 
looks from Sufan to Q^JAtTROUGH and then im- 
pulsively hurries out after Mrs. Sufan.) 

Sufan (shaking his fist at Qualtrough). You're 
a damned nuisance ! She'll sulk for weeks over this. 

Qualtrough (groaning). I kne\v that part of it 
would be awful. 

Sufan. They're inseparable — or I thought they; 
were. If it hadn't been for that girl the boy's death 
would have killed her. I shall have her start grizzling 
all over again. Damn it ! I can't stand. her grizzling . 

Qualtrough. Perhaps it will be possible for us to 
live near. Rose might 

Sufan. Humbug ! You've got the girl. Don't 
share her — least of all with a woman. There is only 
one person that she has to bother her head about for 
the future and that's you. Let her have a canary if 



76 ADVERTISEMENT. 

she likes but draw the line at a lap dog. Toy Pomer- 
anians break up more homes than chorus girls. 

QuALTROUGH. You'll remember that I've been 
pretty patient. You ought to tell your wife that. 
You know I was going to ask her on the day you 
heard of Seton's death. 

SuFAN. That's right, bonny. . . . Have you 
seen his name in the Army List ? (He goes to the 
/( music cabinet left and gets down a quarterly Army 

\ List.) I've g^^ery one, Monthly and Quarterly, 

in which his name appears. There's the last entry. 
{flis voice is hushed.) "Deaths. Sufan, 2nd Lieuten- 
ant (local Lieutenant) Seton Arkington, Royal Fusi- 
*liers . . . Lokoja, Northern Nigeria," and the date. 
See the crossed swords before his name. That means 
war service. I ought to cut it out and frame it, 
oughtn't I ? 

{He puts the hook hack and crossing to the fireplace, 
stands looking up at Seton's portrait. Enter 
Adolf.) 

Adolf. Mr. Pym is on the telephone, sir. 
SuFAN. Um. I don't want to speak to him this 
morning. See what he wants, Qualtrough, will you ? 

[Exit Qualtrough.) 

(Adolf is going, hut Sufan calls him hack.) 

SuFAN. Adolf ! 

Adolf. Yes, sir ? [He shuts the door behind 
Qualtrough and comes down to his master.) 

Sufan. Adolf, do j^ou remember that night when 
I bought the toothache tincture in Aldersgate Street ? 

Adolf. Not likely to forget it, sir. 

Sufan. Make it Luke, Adolf, make it Luke. We 
can be human beings when we're alone. 

(Adolf smiles his slow, sinister smile.) 

What did I say to you when we got outside the 
chemist's shop ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 77 

Adolf. You mean about the Staminal Syrup, 
Luke? 

SuFAN. Yes. Didn't I say — " Adolf, I got an 
idea." 

Adolf. You did. And you swore it would make 
you and it' has. 

SuFAN. Didn't I say I'd look after you, Adolf ? 

Adolf. You did, Luke, and you have. 

SUFAN. You were an out-of-work waiter. Out of 
work. And no character. All the result of adding 
the date on to the items of the customers" accounts. 
Nasty trick that, Adolf, specially if it's the 31st of 
the month. But I stuck to you with all your faults. 
Half a crown you had out of every guinea I earned 
and you were the worst pianist in London. 

Adolf. You were a pal, Luke. God bless you. 

SuFAN. Don't slobber. You got a good job here 
and I dare say you're making some pickings. Oh, 
don't look hurt. I hear about you, mind. But Lm 
a mug. I say " It's only old Adolf. He'd only be 
miserable if he wasn't sneaking something." I say, 
do you remember when we nicked those two bottles 
of whisky out of the artists' room at Frascati's ? 

Adolf (chuckling). Don't I ? What a night ! 

SuFAN. Yes, Adolf. They weren't bad days. I 
never reckoned I'd get as far as this. And I'll bet 
you never thought of being an Arlington Street butler 
. . . But Usten. Do you know what you're going 
to be, Adolf ? . . . You're going to be the butler to a 
knight ! 

Adolf. You don't mean I've got to leave you. 

SuFAN. No, no, no. A knight, a knight, my boy! 
How about Sir Luke Sufan ! 

Adolf. A knight ! You I 

Sufan. Certainly. 

Adolf. Luke, you're a marvel ! 

Sufan. Put it there, Adolf ! 

(They shake hands.) 



78 ADVERTISEMENT. 

And not a word to the servants. Let it take 'em by 
surprise in the morning. And the first one that 
doesn't say "Sir Luke" and "My Lady" gets a 
month's wa5(es in lieu. 

Adolf. I'll see to them. Sir Luke Sufan ! It's 
a blessed miracle ! A miracle ! You married a 
Gentile and 3^et God hasn't cursed you. 

Sufan. I have paid, Adolf, I have paid. The boy! 

Adolf. You will never have paid in full. A goy, 
Luke, a f^ov ! She'll drag you down yet. Mark my 
words. She'll drag vou down. 

Sufan. Sh-h ! He's coming back. 

(QuALTROUGH appears at the door.) 

You'll get it done at once, Adolf. [He resitmes the 
attitude of the master.) 
Adolf. Certainly, sir. 

{Exit Adolf.) 

Sufan {to Qualtrough). Ah, bonny, what did he 
want? 

Qualtrough. Well, I gather that he knows 
something. Says he'll be there this afternoon. But 
he wants to run round this m.Drning and congratulate 
you. 

Sufan {chuckling). Ah, well ! Let him come. 
Let him come. Good little lad ! He's got a nose 
like a weasel. 

(Mrs. Sufan appears at the door.) 

Mrs. Sufan. Miss Appleyard is just going out, 
Mr. Qialtrouj^h. You may like to go with her. . . . 
I was a little abrupt to you just now. I'm sorry. 
I do indeed congratulate you. I shall miss her, 
very much. I would have fought to kefep her from 
most mea. I let her go wiUingly to you. 

Qualtrough {showing slight errtition). I am 
very proud that you should have sad that, Mrs. Sufan. 



AIJVERTIS^MENT. 79 

{He bows to hey and leaves the room, closing the door 
softly behind him.) 

SuFAN. I'm awfully sony about this, awfully 
sorrj^ 111 put an advertisement in the " Morning 
Post " at once. 

Mrs. Sufax. Oh, Luke, don't- talk like that. 
Don't talk like that. 

SuFAN {puzzled). But you'll have to have another. 
. . . For Heaven's sake don't mope about it. You 
know I can't bear having you on the grizzle. Besides 
you've only heard the bad news of the day. What 
about the good news ? 

Mrs. Sufan {sitting in chair above table c). Ah ! 
. . . Have you made another million, or 

Sufan. You know where I am going this after- 
noon ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Somewhere in — Lambeth, isn't it ? 

Sufan. Never mind. Who's going to be there 
beside me ? 

Mrs. Sufan. I won't guess. 

Sufan. Who's going to be there beside me ? . . . 
I'll tell you. The King ! 

Mrs. Sufan.. Ah, yes. 

Sufan., And I'ni to be presented to him. 

Mrs. Sufan. So that's why you look so new this 
morning. 

Sufan. Don't I look all right ? You're always 
tr^ang to pull me down a peg. But I guess you'll be 
a little more civil after to-day. 

Mrs. Sufan. What on earth has happened or is 
going to happen ? 

Sufan (striking an attitude). This afternoon I am 
to be knighted. 

Mrs, Sufan. You — are going — to be knighted! 
(She says it in scarcely a convplimentary way.) 

Sufan. I am. (He chuckles and rubs his hands). 
Eh, my lady } Eh. my lady ? At half past three 
no more of the Mrs. but— Lady Sufan. What do 
you say to that, eh ? 



80 ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mrs. Sufan. But you — you surely — I congratulate 
you. 

Sufan. Not forgetting yourself, eh ? Ha, ha ! 
Can't you see it on your cards ? " Lady Sufan." 
Just that. Nothing more. And I've got an option 
on a corner house in Grosvenor Square. Royalty 
had it once. Only gave it up because of the rats. 
By Giorge, we'll mike things hum. . . . What's 
up ? You don't look very cheerful about it. 

Mrs. Sufan. Eh ? I — [affecting pleasure which 
she does not feel.) — I think it's splendid for you, Luke. 
Splendid ! You've worked so hard. And you 
wanted it so badly. And 

Sufan. Oh, I don't know about that. I've never 
thought twice about the thing, but I suppose it was 
bound to come. Still, it gives one a certain class, eh ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. It admits one to a — certain 
class. 

Sufan. There's been a lot of people too good for 
me. I'll show 'em now. Some of those damned 
country people, eh ? Sir Luke Sufan, Knight, will 
be a different proposition to the " old hair oil mer- 
chant." 

Mrs. Sufan. Luke, Luke, please don't run away 
with that idea. There's a good man. You will 
find this — handle useful in your business. That is all. 

Sufan. Business be hanged ! I'm after bigger 
game now. We'll have to entertain. Have the right 
people round to dinner. Get a good chef. Have a 
box at the opera. Buy some race horses perhaps. 
That gets the Duchesses after you. What about 
Parhament, eh ? How about Sir Luke Sufan, Knight, 
MP. ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Surely you don't wish to do any- 
thing so inexpressibly vulgar ? 

Sufan. Vulgar ! Vulgar ! Look here, I've heard 
enough of that word. Damn it, if you aren't un- 
grateful. Your father christened you Ellen Arking- 
ton. I christen you Lady Sufan. (Rather to himself.) 



ADVERTISEMENT. 81 

And how the dickens can a member of ParHament be 
vulgar, I'd like to know ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Luke, Luke, I only want to help you. 
I have often felt so sorry for you. I am sorry for you 
now, sorry for what this honour may bring upon you. 
Believe me, Luke, I can guide you. Don't lose your 
temper with me. 

Sufan [his eyes bulging). You're — sorry — for me ! 
You're — sorry — for — me ! Well, if that doesn't beat 
cock-fighting. 

Mrs. Sufan. I understand you, Luke. This 
pretty title has dazzled you Hke your first diamond 
ring. You want a little shadow, a little cool air. 
Try and look at the whole business in its proper 
perspective. If you can't see for yourself, let me see 
for you. Do as I tell you — and ignore every one else's 
advice. Do you know, Luke, that you have only 
one candid friend ? 

Sufan {slightly mollified). Of course I want you 
to help. . . . We work together. Man and wife 
must ... I couldn't go any further without you. 
And I'll listen to you about whom to have at the 
house, and so on, if that's what you mean. 
. Mrs. Sufan. I don't think you will, Luke. They 
would have to be very, very different from the shady 
sycophants that you bring into the house now. 

Sufan {angrily). They're all right. They're/^-, 
business men. They're my class. They helped me^ 7 
to make me what I am and they helped to make you/- 
Lady Sufan. 

Mrs. Sufan, God forgive them ! They had a big 
hand in the un-making of you. They have made some- 
thing new of the Luke Sufan I once knew — and loved. 

Sufan. Don't talk like that ! You love me still, 
don't you? 

Mrs. Sufan. It has not occurred to you to ask 
that for over twenty years. 

Sufan, It wasn't necessary ! Not necessary- — 
to ask. 



S2^ ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mrs. Sufan. That was how you felt. Yes . . 
Luke, your heart is not mine. It is in your business, 
Do you remember where it was before ? 

Sufan [testily). Oh, say what you mean. 

Mrs. Sufan. In me and in your music. I didn't 
mind sharing you with your music. . . . You took 
your viohn with you on our honeymoon and I was 
not jealous. Far from it. So long as you loved your 
music, so long should I love you. 

Sufan. Precious ass I should look prancing round 
with a fiddle at my age. 

Mrs. Sufan. You have said it. You have said it. 
. . . Don't you understand that when I talk of your 
violin I talk of all the noble side of you, all that part 
of your nature which once rejoiced with me in what 
was true and beautiful. 

Sufan. A man ages. What is all that foolishness 
of youth to look back upon ? You might just as well 
cry for your first rattle or first box of soldiers. A 
man ages. A man ages. Don't women age ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Happiness ages. Love ages. And 
both should grow riper. We were happy only for a 
poor little two years. Then the demon of lust — 
lust for wealth and power — possessed you. You fell 
among thieves, men who would make you a thief. 
Don't deny that. Your only excuse is that you are 
one of them. That demon destro37ed the angel in you. 
Your violin fell to pieces in a dirty corner — :md you 
drove your wife from her home. 

Sufan. For God's sake ! You promised never 

Mrs. Sufan. We both promised to forget — but 
neither of us saw very far into the future. Now I 
must recall all that, that you may fully understand, 
. . . You drove me oit in an hour of brutal mad- 
ness — and you little knew, you little knew what 
punishment that act would bring upon me. 

(This reference Sufan, of course, misunderstands.) 

I came back. You promised that you would be the 



ADVERTISEMENT. 83 

Luke of old, not the stranger whose very presence dis- 
gusted ine. . . . But you never kept your word. 

SuFAN [hoarsely). I was working — working, like a 
fiend. 

Mrs. Sufan. For yourself. . . . For yourself. 
. . . Only for my boy's sake did I endure the life 
I have endured for the last twenty years. . . . Now 
he has gone. 

Sufan {beginning to suspect something of her inten- 
tion). And now ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Now you want me to travel in new 
ways, ways of your choosing. You want me to 
accompany you into a fresh career of vulgar ambition, 
to be your hostess for further fools. You want me to 
take over the job of the hotel keeper, see that the 
cook is right and the servants capable — ^servants 
controlled by that thieving scoundrel, Adolf. You 
want me to look the part of Lady Sufan. And for 
these things only do you want me. For twenty 
years you have only wanted me for selfish reasons. 
And now you want to double my dose of humiliation. 
Luke (almost tenderly), I cannot ride with you 
along this new road. I cannot. Even if I agreed 
my promise would be worse than useless. I must 
break it, and, inevitably, I would hamper, perhaps 
destroy, an ambition with which I have no sym- 
pathy. 

Sufan. If an angel from heaven had descended 
to tell me this I would not have believed it. 

Mrs. Sufan. I know. That is what has held me 
back so long. I knew it would shock you. 

Sufan. This — from you ? From you, Ellen ! 

Mrs. Sufan. The worm turns. 

Sufan [fiercely). I don't want to hear that. 

Mrs. Sufan. You know it. You are only sur- 
prised that the worm should so far forget itself on 
your Turkey carpet. 

Sufan. I am surprised— su'-pnsed because I be- 
lieved in you. I am surprised because, however I 



84 ADVERTISEMENT. 

have failed you, you have never failed me. I am 
surprised because — because you are my wife. 

Mrs. Sufan. That's it. I know the strength and 
weight of the chain. But you have given me power 
to break it. 

Sufan. To break it ! To break it ! {He gazes 
at her in amazement and slowly realizes that she means 
what she says). " Be not against me to desire that I 
should leave thee and depart ; for whithersoever 
thou shalt go I will go, and where thou shalt dwell I 
also will dwell." 

Mrs. Sufan. I'm sure we can settle matters quite 
calmly. If we argue or — or quote the Bible, we will 
lose our tempers. 

Srfan. What do you mean by " settle matters ? " 
There is ony one way of settling them. You are my 
wife and you shall go your husband's way. 

Mrs. Sufan. No. . . . Unless that way were a 
new way — and I am afraid it is too late now. 

Sufan. And is it for you to dictate, woman ? 
How long have you held that view ? 

Mrs. Sufan. I never dictated. I implored. 
You promised and broke your promise. Now it's 
all over — finally. 

Sufan. What are you threatening me with? 

Mrs. Sufan. Luke, I must leave you. 

Sufan. Leave me ! 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. 

Sufan. You are mad. You are mine. How 
have I wronged you ? Leave me ! I have been 
faithful. I've v/orked for — yes, for you. You're 
the mother of my dead son. 

Mrs. Sufan. Don't drag him in. 

Sufan. I will. By Heaven, I will. I'd have 
him here to hsten to your shameful words if I could. 

Mrs. Sufan. Listen, hsten, listen. You have 
' been faithful. Save on that one fateful and ter- 
rible occasion when your humanity seemed tem- 
porarily to leave you, you have be^n in the eyes of 



ADVERTISEMENT. S6 

the world a tolerable husband. No man or woman 
on God's earth would justify me. And I don't 
want their justification. I don't want a word of 
S3nTipathy. I shall leave you because^because — 
oh ! I do so want to spare you. (Shrilly.) Can't 
you believe me, man, when I tell you I am suffer- 
ing agony this moment here in this room that has 
been paid for out of rotten patent medicines, in the 
shadow of the portrait of my son, paid for out of 
rotten patent medicine, in the company of a hus- 
band who has bought a knighthood out of rotten 
patent medicines. . . . Hear me out ! Can't you 
realize what agony your society constantly causes 
me ? You, whose soul was once in the finer things 
of life, now revelling, rioting in money and all the 
contemptible instead of the beautiful things that 
money could buy. Oh, I know you'd buy me a 
Corot or a Tanagra, but could I ever see them through 
anything but a smear of Sufan's Scalp Cream ? 
Can't you guess even vaguely at the shame I feel 
at my failure ? Can't you guess how I despise my- 
self for failing to save you for the better life for which, 
before God, you were made. . . . You, Luke, you 
who had this noble gift as your birthright. You, 
w^ho played your violin so that all my life I felt I 
must worship ! You — to have sunk to quackery 
and a purchased knighthood ! I could find it in 
my heart to forgive your contemptuous treatment 
of me. God knows it must be partly my fault that 
I have no more of your confidence than one of the 
housemaids. I have borne all that long and could 
go on bearing it. . . . But what I cannot bear 
is the change in you. I cannot live with you be- 
cause you are nqt the man I loved and married. 
You are making more money out of your horrible 
business. You are to be knighted. Everything 
will be worse, far worse. It would drive me mad. 
... I have never cried over you. My heart is 
stone. What you were . . . what you were . . . 



gg ADVERTISEMENT. 

I might have {Her words dry up in her throat.) 

SuFAN (after a pause). Oh God, you women ! 
You women ! What chance does a man get ? I've 
been straight, dead straight. ... I've got there. 
Made you Lady Sufan. And you want to go. . . . 
Just as I'm on top. I've never heard anything Hke 
this. (Rather to himself.) I know they'll " leave 
you if you're a failure. I've heard of that often 
enough. But when you've done it ! Got there. 
And a knighthood ! . . . And all this because I 
used to play the fiddle. Damn the thing ! . . . 
Look here, you don't mean all this. I'll try and 

— try and 

Mrs. Sufan. I mean it all. We must separate, 
Luke. 

Sufan. But — the scandal. Woman, woman, 
the scandal ! Do you want to ruin me ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Ruin you ? Won't it be something 
of an advertisement ? 

Sufan. Advertisement, advertisement ! Yes, 
yes. But advertisement of the wrong sort. Good 
heavens, yes ! A man who sells patent medicines 
has got to lead a pure life and so have all his family. 
The public insists on it. They'll give a Cabinet 
Minister a fairly wide margin, but the man who sells 
a corn-killer has got to go straight. Do you remem- 
ber old Bilthorpe of Bilthorpe's Blood Purifier ? 
His son, only his son, mind you, got divorced and 
old Bilthorpe's sales dropped a million bottles. . . . 
You leave me and, by Heaven, you'll go near smash- 
ing me. 

Mrs. Sufan. There would be poetic justice in 
that. 

Sufan. What do you mean ? Justice ? You'd 
desert me and ruin me at the same time ? Ellen, 
you've turned a very devil. 

Mrs. Sufan. I don't believe it would have any 
effect of the sort. 

Sufan. Wouldn't it ? Half the religious papers 



ADVERTISEMENT. 87 

would stop their " advt." at once, and they're far 
away the best medium. 

j\Irs. Sufan. Well, and if I did smash the busi- 
ness. It's all it deserves. 

Sufan. All it deserves ? Smash a good busi- 
ness. Smash a good business ? . . . The woman's 
going off her head — clean off her head. 

Mrs. Sufan. Good business ! . . . Yes, I've 
no doubt it is. . . . But it's a swindle and you 
know it. 

Sufan (flabbergasted). A swindle ! Sufan's Scalp 
Cream a swindle. {He runs his hands through his 
hair.) 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. A vulgar swindle. You 
know quite well the stuff is worthless, both that old 
beastly Staminal and the new stuff, though I shouldn't 
be surprised to find they are one and the same thing. 

Sufan {giiiltily). Nonsense ! 

Mrs. Sufan. They've been forced on the prblic 
by clever advertising. But everybody who buys 
a bottle is swindled — and swindled by you ! 

Sufan. Swindled ! How dare you ! 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. Swindled ! You charge 
half-a-crown for a mess that's not worth more than 
2d. Isn't that the truth ? 

Sufan. And what if it is ? The stuff's good and 
it's the cost of the advertising that puts its price up. 

Mrs. Sufan. Cost of advertising, indeed ! If 
a burglar breaks into your safe, is he any less a 
criminal because he uses expensive tools ? You've 
dragged something out of me that I meant to keep 
to myself. But perhaps it's for the best. 

Sufan (deeply hurt). Oh, I'm a swindler, am I ? 
... A swindler ! Do you hear that, Luke Sufan ? 
. . . Here's a woman leaving a man because he's 
a swindler. . . . First time in history, Luke, as 
long as he was a successful swindler. . . . (Suddenly 
he swoops down on his wife and shouts.) Look here, 
woman, no more lies. Where are you going ? 



88 ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mrs. Sufan. Where? 

SuFAN. Yes where ? . . . Who to ? . . . 

{She turns with revulsion from him. He watches for 
a moment and then he seizes her arm and leads her 
to the portrait of Seton.) 

What would he have said to this ? 

Mrs. Sufan. I have already told you that I 
won't have my boy dragged in. 

Sufan. " My boy." " My boy." Not so much 
of the " my boy." {He roars.) Our boy ! . . , 
Do you hear ? 

Mrs. Sufan frightened). Well — our boy. 

Sufan. What would he have said ? Ah, I know 
he didn't tjiink much of me. I dare say I've got 
you to thank for that. He looked down on the old 
patent medicine merchant. And where is he now ? 
You know what the Book says : " The eye that 
mocketh at his father . . . the ravens of the valley 
shall pick it out and the young eagles shall eai'it." 
Do you ever think of that, you who taught him to 
despise me ? ' But what about the knighthood, 
eh ? That would have helped him with his pals. 
He wouldn't have been ashamed of m.e now. But 
what would he have thought of his mother ? Eh ? 
What do those army gentry think of chaps whose 
mothers run away from their husbands ? Woman, 
if he were alive, he'd curse you for this, and you 
know it. 

Mrs. Sufan. I think I know what my boy would 
have thought. 

Sufan (sneering). Oh, he was very much your 
property, wasn't he ? AH for you, and all that. 
None of his father's qualities, thank God, eh ? Isn't 
that it ? 

Mrs. Sufan. rU tell you this — that Seton earned 
the knighthood for you. You'd never have got it 
for money alone — money made as you made it. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 89 

That boy's heroic death was necessary for your 
glory. 

SuFAN {fiercely and under his breath). Don't dare 
say that. I'd sooner have died than he. 

Mrs. Sufan {after a pause). Yes ... I believe 
that. . . . Yes. I believe that. {She is sincere. 
The knowledge adds to her agony.) 

Sufan. And if his death did help his father! 
Have you an3^thing to say against that ? Would 
any natural wife complain at that ? Don't hide 
your head tliere grizzling. Just listen to me. You're 
going to leave me. Well, I can't stop you. You 
can go at once — go at once — do you hear. And 
you'll sta.rve ! Not one penny do you get from me. 

Mrs. Sufan. I do not want it. I shall not starve. 

Sufan. What are you going to do ? What's 
the good of you ? You can't work. You haven't 
got a halfpenny — or you hadn't when I married you. 

Mrs. Sufan. I shall not starve. I have enough 
to live on. 

Sufan. Where the devil did you get it from ? 

Mrs. Sufan {hesitatingly). It is no business of 
yours now. 

Sufan. Yes, it is. And you shall tell me. TeU 
me now, now, now, rigiit away — or I'll have every 
inch of your room searched. 

(Mrs. Sufan winces.) 

Ah, that moved you. Perhaps you'd rather there 
wasn't a search, eh, my fme lady ? . . . Where 
does the money come from ? 

Mrs. Sufan. From an old friend. 

Sufan {sneering). An old friend. An old friend ! 
And for what particular reason, pray, does the old 
friend give money to the wife of a man who's prac- 
tically a millionaire ? 

Mrs. Sufan {leaping to her feet). He is dead ! 
He bequeathed the money to me. 

Sufan {slightly relieved, for this is plausible). Oh ! 



90 ADVERTISEMENT. 

And why wasn't I told about it ? Why all this 
secrecy ? 

Mrs. Sufan. It concerned you in no way. It 
was really very little, or you'd have called it very 
little. I— I 

Sufan (cruelly). Go on ! 

Mrs. Sufan. It never occurred to me that you 
— that you would expect to be told. 

Sufan. Ah. . . . And if you had died before 
me it would of course have been a pleasing little 
legacy from my devoted wife. Husband naturally 
not expected to inquire where the money comes 
from. Oh dear no. 

Mrs. Sufan (hastily) . It wasn't meant to go to 

(She stops, recognizing the danger.) 

Sufan. It wasn't meant to go to whom ? Not 
to me ! That's what you meant. Then who, pray, 
would it have gone to ? 

(She does not answer.) 

Why not your husband ? Why leave it to any one 
else ? You have no relations. Ah, perhaps it was 
in trust. Answer. Was it in trust ? 

Mrs. Sufan (7;^;'y fearfully). Yes. 

Sufan. And for ? (He looks up at Seton's 
portrait.) For whom, woman ? . . . For whom, 
woman ?, 

Mrs. Sufan (recovering herself). I held it in trust 
for my boy. 

Sufan. " For my boy.'^ For Seton. . . . And 
who in the name of all that is damnable dared leave 
money so without my knowledge or consent ? 

Mrs. Sufan. An old friend. Major-General 
Sterling. 

Sufan. Never heard of him. 

Mrs. Sufan. You have never met him. But 
you have heard of him. 

Sufan. Sterhng ? Sterling ? Ah, there was a 
Colonel SterUng. 



ADVERTISEiS'IENT. 91 

Mrs. Sufan. He was a Colonel when you heard 
of him. Afterwards he was made a Major-Gen eral. 

Sufan (kniiting his brows). Major-General Ster- 
ling ! x^h-h, yes ! Colonel Sterling ! That was 
the snob that I had to cut out, wasn't it ? Your 
father wanted you to marry him, didn't he ? Yes, 
yes. And you very nearly did. Veiy fond of him 
you were too. You told me that. How charm- 
ingly sentimental ! And the fellow's dead, is he ? 
That's a pretty good job. Dead, eh? When did 
he die ? 

Mrs. Sufan. A month before Seton. 

Sufan (sharply). You connect 'em up pretty 
glibly, don't you ? Why the devil can't you give 
the date ? 

Mrs. Sufan. In December, 1914. 

(Sufan goes to the music cabinet and gets down one 
of the Quarterly Army Lists, the one immediately 
preceding that in which the notification of Seton 's 
death appears.) 

Sufan. He'll be in here if you're not lying. 

(Mrs. Sufan clenches her teeth. Sufan turns up the 
page headed " Deaths,'') 

Yes. Right enough. " Sterhng, Major-General 
Seton Douglas, C.B., retired pay. Reserve of OJficers, 
on the 3rd of December." H'm. (He seniles.) He 
had a lot to leave, I'll be— here ! Where the devil 
did the man get his Christian name ? 

Mrs. Sufan (breathlessly). What? 

Sufan. His Christian name ! " Seton." Here, 
did you call our boy after him ? 

Mrs. Sufan (stammering). I — I — I 

Sufan (o7i the edge of a suspicion which terrifies 
him). You did, didn't you? You did? 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. I 

Sufan {roaring). Well, v/hy shouldn't you? 
Why shouldn't you, woman ? Boy's got to have 



92 ADVERTISEMENT. - 

a name. Call him after an old friend ? Why not ? 
What are you shaking about ? 

Mrs. Sufan. You're frightening me. You're 
so brutal. 

Sufan. Brutal ! Bosh ! Why wasn't I told ? 
What was the mystery about ? 

Mrs. Sufan. There was no mystery. I didn't 
— I didn't mention it because I thought you rriight 
be a little jealous. 

Sufan (trying to convince himself). Yes. That's 
all right. That's right enough. Very natural. 
I'm not making a fuss about it. Doesn't matter 
what the boy was called. Doesn't matter a damn ! 
I didn't care what he was christened and I don't 
care now.. 

{He crosses moodily to the fireplace and looks up at 
the portrait as if he would read the secret of the aivful 
suspicion that is haunting him, and returns to the 
iahle where the Army List is.) 

So it's his money, eh ? Yes. He's dead right 
enough. " Sterling, Seton Douglas ... on the 
3rd of December ... at Polperro, Cornwall." 
{He shuts the hook with a snap. Suddenly his fea- 
tures undergo a great change.) Where ? {He opens 
the hook again.) At Polperro, Cornwall ? Was that 
where he lived permanently ? 

{She. sJUires at him terrified as to how to answer.) 

Answer m'e ! 

I^.Irs. Sufan. .Y^.^. ^t;^ 

Sufan. * And wasn't it to Polperro that you went 
when you left my liouse ? Wasn't it at Polperro 
that you hid from me those two months ? 

(Mrs. Sufan is dazed. She stares at him in utter 
terror and cannot answer.) 

[At this precise moment, when the audience is worked 
up, the scene is interrupted by the eyitrance of Adolf.) 



ADVERTISEMENT, 93 

Adolf. Mr. Pyin to see you, sir. i 

SuFAN [angrily). Send him away. I can't se« <^ 
anybody, {fle hustles Adolf out and snaps the doo^ 
on him.) —...— - \\ 

(Su fan's arm is on the door as it is closing. In fact 
he helps to close it with a snap. Then, like a re- 
leased ^falcon he swoops down on his prey again.) 

SuFAN {with his back to the door). Wasn't it at 
Polperro that you hid from me those two months ? 

{He asks the question in precisely the same fierce, 
excited tones as he asked it before Adolf's entrance.) 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. 

SuFAN. Was he there ? 

Mrs. Sufan. He was. 

Sufan. And you ? 

Mrs. Sufan. I stayed at his house. 

Sufan. What ! 

Mrs. Sufan. Listen ! I had practically no 
money. He was my only friend I had to have 
shelter. 

Sufan. Why have you hidden this till now ? 

Mrs. Sufan. There was no need to tell you. 

Sufan. You Ued to me. You said you sold 
some jewellery and stayed at a cottage. Wouldn't 
that have been a cleaner thing to do ? 

Mrs. Sufan. I was no judge. I hid as a hunted 
beast hyies. You had hit me. You don't know 
the strength of your hand. I ran away to where 
— to where there was some one who might fight for 
me. 

Sufan {shamed at the memory). I know. . . . 
Yet you came back. Did be want you to^o back ? 

Mrs. Sufan. You can guess, 

Sufan. Yet you came back. Yet you came 

back. And in a few months {He looks up at 

Seton's portrait.) This man, Sterhng, was a 
widower, wasn't he ? 



94 ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. 

SuFAN. He was willing to steal another man's 
wife. You would not agree. Why ? . . . Why ? 
. . . Oh ! {Sudde?ily losing control of himself.) This 
is driving me mad. Did you love the man ? 

Mrs. Sufan. After you killed my love for you, 

Sufan. Woman, have you been faithful ? 

Mrs. Sufan [forcing herself to lie). Yes. 

Sufan. There's something in your eyes. You 
are pitying me. I swear you are trying to keep 
something from me — yes, and it's for ray sake. 
You're lying, and you're not lying to shield yourself. 

Mrs. Sufan. I am not lying. 

Sufan. Have you this man's portrait ? 

Mrs. Sufan. No ! 

(She wears a locket, containing a portrait of the man, 
attached to a chain under her dress. At his question 
she im'oluntarily raises her hands to her breast where 
the locket is.) 

Sufan. That's a lie. If you loved him you'd 
have his portrait. Why did you raise your hands ? 
Mrs. Sufan. What do you mean ? 
Sufan. Pull out that chain. 
Mrs. Sufan. I will not. 
Sufan. PuU it out. 

(She draws hack, hut he roughly seizes her and whips 
out the locket, breaking the chain.) 

Mrs. Sufan [wailing in agony). Luke, Luke, Luke, 
give me my locket. 

Sufan [opening the locket and looking at the picture). 
It's Seton. [He says it very quietly with some sur- 
prise and not a little relief.) It's Seton. It's very 
good. Why didn't you show it to me before ? . . . 
What's the matter ? 

(The woman is trembling with terror.) 

It's Seton, isn't it ? [He looks at it again.) 



ADVERTISEMENT. 95 

Mrs. Sufan (breathless): Yes. It's Seton. 
SuFAN (his jaw dropping). Got fun die oves ! It 
is not my boy. 

ij^he locket containing the portrait drops to the ground.) 

It is not my boy . . . (After a pause he goes close 
to his wife.) How did you come by that ? (The 
tone is quiet and deeply tragic.) 

Mrs. Sufan. He bequeathed it to me. 

Sufan. It is his picture. 

Mrs. Sufan (almost inaudible). Yes. 

Sufan. At the same age ? 

Mrs. Sufan. Yes. 

Sufan (huskily). He was the father of your son. 

(She does not answer. The sJ ruddering man endeavours 
to get control of himself.) 

Helf mir in diesem moment, oh Got ! Helf mir ! . , , 
(He turns his eyes frora the icoman.) Go from my 
sight, you unclean woman ! I was unworthy of 
you, was I ? You would have gone, leaving me 
befooled for ever. You would have humiliated me 
before the world, would you ? That was to be your 
atonement. Oh, how vile ! How vile ! 

Mrs. Sufan (sobbing miserably). I tried to spare 
you. I tried to spare you. 

Sufan. Spare me. (His voice rises.) You gave 
me the boy to love, to own, to cherish, to v/orship, 
and all the years you were laughing in my face. 
How you must have sniggered when I took him in 
my arms. What comedy for you when my heart 
bled at his death. 

(He raises his ha,nds as if to grip and strangle her. 
The fingers work convulsively while the woman 
crouches. Suddenly he clenches his hands ajid prays. ) 

Lord God of Israel, I give this woman into Thy 
hands. Thy servant's heart is dead and he is pas- 
sionless. Take her and deal with her in accord with 



gfe ADVERTISE^IEl^T. 

her crime. * Dos gerechtigkeit fun vater iz dos 
gerechtigkeit fun got. Un der wos iz bereubt und 
verfuhrt geworen, der schreit. 

(The woman, who has been watching him in fear and 
awe, slinks slowly from the room.) 

Bund zeine hend um er soil nit kennen hargenen, 
und zein zung er soil nit kennen schilten. Oh Got ! 
mechtiger got, helf mir, helf mir, helf mir. 

* The cause of the father is the cause of God. It is one 
who has been robbed and cheated who cries out. Tie his 
hands that he may not kill and his tongue that he may not 
curse. Lord God of hosts, help me, help me, help me ! 



Curtain. 



ACT IV 

Scene. — On the leads of a house in Hampstead. Some 
years have elapsed since Act III. 

The right wall is the wall of the house and in the centre 
of it are French windows to which steps ascend. 
The hack and left walls are of . trelliswork covered 
with creeper, now yellow and wine red, as it is late 
September. In the centre of the leads stands a booth, 
such as is erected by Jews in England during the 
Feast of Tabernacles. The booth is little more 
than a canopy, erected on four rustic posts, sufficiently 
large to cover a dinner party of four. The roof is 
lightly constructed of branches of trees, plants, fruits 
flowers and leaves in such a manner as not to be quite 
impenetrable to wind and rain or starlight. Beneath 
it is a small table and three white wickerwork chairs. 
There are flower boxes about containing evergreens 
and such flowers as are in bloom in England late in 
September. 

It is 4 p.m. on a bright, clear day, the blue sky showing 
above the trelliswork surmounting the back and left 
walls. 

(On the rising of the curtain a pert Maidservant 
enters through French windows carrying a tray of tea, 
things. She goes to the table under the booth and 
prepares it for a meal. The sound of a violin being 
played in accompaniment with a piano comes through 
the French windows in the wall R. The violin is 
being played very beautifully . It is the same air 

97 G 



98 ADVERTISEMENT. 

.::.: timt Mrs. Sufan played towards tJie opening &f Act I 
and Miss Appleyard played in Act III, viz. 
Rubinstein's Romance in E fiat. When the Maid- 
servant has finished laying the table she picks up 
some watercress from the table, puts it in her mouth, 
and, chewing it, goes towards the French windows.) 

Maid. Tea's ready. . . . Tea — is — ready ! (The 
music stops. Exit Maid, through upper window.) 

(Luke Sufan appears in the lower French windows, 
carrying a violin and bow in his hands. His hair 
and beard are going prematurely white, which gives 
him a patriarchal appearance. His walk is not so 
^rect as it was and his big figure seems to have shrunk. 
He wears an old dark flannel suit and roomy slippers. 
Round his collar is an old scarf tied in a very ragged 
and slovenly bow in front.) 

Sufan {as he descends the steps). Worse than ever, 
worse than ever, Adolf. You were never better than 
the pianola and now you^re worse. {He places violin 
and bow on the tea table.) 

(Adolf appearing at the French windows.^ 

Adolf. Then why don't you use the pianola ? 

(Adolf's hair has left him for ever. His head is like a 
white billiard ball and not much larger. He keeps, 
fairly straight, but he has certainly shrivelled. His 
smile has become yellow and he is, therefore, more- 
sinister of aspect than ever. He wears an alpaca 
jacket and an old black dress tie that once belonged to 
his master. Resting on his nose are spectacles 
with steel rims that have gone black.) 

Sufan. You must earn your wages, Adolf. 
Adolf (snappily). I've never done that, eh ? 
Sufan. Shut up ! 

(They are now both standing by chairs under the booth.) 

*' Blessed art Thou who hast sanctified us by Thy 



ADVERTISEMENT. 99 

commandments and hast commanded us to dwell in 
the booth." 

(They sit down and Adolf pours out tea for both.) 

Remember that the Feast of Tabernacles is one of 
rejoicing, Adolf. And be amiable ! 

Adolf. I can't be amiable. You're always bait- 
ing me. 

SuFAN. Sour old devil ! Have you washed the 
dog? 

Adolf [snappily). Yes. 

SuFAN. Posted my letters ? 

Adolf. Yes. 

SuFAN. Fed the canary ? 

Adolf. Yes. It's got enough for a blasted eagle. 

SuFAN. Found the tortoise ? 

Adolf. No — and I hope I never shall. 

SuFAN. You never liked that tortoise. 

Adolf. He was too old and silly. Once I nearly 
broke my neck over him. 

SuFAN. Pity you didn't. You're too old to live. 
Pass the watercress. 

Adolf (pushing it over) . That hussy's been stealing 
it again, 

SuFAN. Where would you like to be buried ? 
%, Adolf (crackling). Ha! ha! You always would 
■have your Jo^e^ 

SuFAN. Joke ? Have you ordered that new music 
of Debussy's ? 

Adolf (furiously). Yes. And Fve scrubbed the 
floors, cleaned the windows, cooked the food, made 
the beds, swept the chimneys and cleared out the 
drains. What more do you want ? 

SuFAN. Lazy devil ! And all of it done badly. 
As badly as you play the piano. 

Adolf. I'm too old for music. 

SuFAK. Too old for music ! One can't be too-bid:.- 
Nor can one be too young. ' " ->» r,"- 



100 ADVERTISE]\IE]SrT. 

Adolf. Didn't we have enough of that when we 
were young men ? 

SuFAN. It was all the world to us then. 

Adolf. Because we knew no better. We soon 
found out a better game, didn't we, Luke ? 

SuFAN. We thought it was a better game. And 
so did Pym and Woods and all that gang. 

Adolf. It was a better game. Weren't you happy 
then ? Are you happy now ? 

SuFAN. You're right. I was happy then. 

Adolf. And now you are wretched. Why ? Be- 
cause you sit and mope and do nothing. Why did 
you give up work ? You refuse a knighthood and 
play the fool with your business, and then for years 
you idle. 

SuFAN. Why should I work ? You know the 
fortune I got for the business. 

Adolf (rubbing his hands). Yes, and now the 
company has gone smash. What a bit of luck ! 

SuFAN. It was bound to go smash — bound to be 
found out like the other stuff. 

Adolf. Well, well, one down, t'other come up. 
You could do it again. That's what Mr. Woods and 
Mr. Pym are always saying. 

SuFAN. I suppose I could. In fact I know I could. 

Adolf. Then why don't you. Here's your chance 
with this cigarette Mr. Pym has got hold of. Go back, 
Luke, go back and be happy again. 

SuFAN. I could, go back, but should I be happy ? 

Adolf. Happy — happy working up a good busi- 
ness ! Luke, what's come over you ? 

Sufan. Perhaps it's because I know it's a dirty 
business. 

Adolf {horrified). A dirty business ! Business — 
business dirty ! How can it be dirty if it pays good 
money ? 

Sufan (smiling). What is it that the end doesn't 
justify, Adolf ? 

Adolf. See here, Luke. God made the man ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 101 

Yes. God made the grain ? (He picks up the loaf 
of bread.) Yes. Then God made the weights and 
measures. Go and use them. 

SuFAN (smiling). This cigarette belongs to Pym 
and Woods, doesn't it ? 

Adolf. Yes, Luke. You can have a third share. 
But they want your name and the money to advertise 
it. 

SuFAN. I thought that would be part of the bar- 
gain. Money to advertise it ! Am I to start all that 
traffic over again ? 

Adolf. Never mind what you think about it. 
It's work — it's business. It'll fill your mind — keep 
you alive. What business has a man in his prime 
pottering about a garden and scraping a fiddle ? 

SuFAN. What's the special virtue of this precious 
fag? 

Adolf. They'll tell you to-day. I expect them 
at any minute. You go back, Luke, and show them. 
They sneered in the city when you went out. Go 
back and go to the top again. Make another fortune. 
You could make 'em gasp if you like. 

SuFAN. It's tempting. It's very tempting. _ I 
know that hard work would ease some of my memories. 
To leave the music and go back to — business ! Can 
I do it ? The older you get, Adolf, the more music 
you should want. I seem to want the things I loved 
in my youth more and more every day. I like to 
think every one does. If she would, Adolf, if only 
she would. 

Adolf. Don't talk of her ! She has brought 
curses enough upon you. 
- SuFAN. For what I've suffered I have only myself 
to blame. 

Adolf. No need to tell me that. You forgot the 
promises of Isaiah and the injunctions of Ezra. You 
married a Gentile. No good can come of a sinful 
marriage. 

SuFAN. She is the wife of my covenant. I sup- 



fS2 ADVERTTSEMENT. 

pose I have sinned, but I have paid. God should give 
her back to me. 

Adolf (angrily) . You blaspheme ! She may 
come, but God can never give her back. 

SuFAN. What a narrow, fanatical old fool you are, 
Adolf. 

Adolf. Ah ! You are the English Jew all over . 
Just so niuch of the reUgioii as suits you. I know 
you. 

SuFAN. Then if you know me don't irritate me. 
I liever thought she had it in her nature to be crueL 
She left me — yes — but that was because she was so 
sensitive of the wrong she had done me. It doesn't 
seem natural. 

Adolf. Women are like boiled eggs — either' hard 
or soft. She's a hard one. 

SuFAN. I havfen't asked much. Only that we 
should come together for the last few years. I 
wanted her, Adolf, eVen before I asked. She ought 
to listen now, now when we're both soon to be chil- 
dren again. I don't understand her never answering. 
That's not like her. Six letters and all of them re- 
gistered. You did register them, Adolf, didn't you ? 
Adolf. Certainly, Luke. 
SuFAN. To the Qualtroughs' house, eh ? 
Adolf. Yes, Luke. 

SuFAN. To ignore them altogether ! It's so un- 
feeling, Adolf, and she was never that. 

Adolf. I don't know. You never get to the in- 
side of a woman's heart. That's why I never married. 
They make you think they're tender, but I believ-e 
they're all tough, really. Tough — tough as leather. 
SuFAN. Quarrels mustn't — -mustn't last. 
Adolf (sneering) r Quarrels! 
SuFAN. Aye. Call it that. Why shouldn't I call 
it that ? 

Adolf. Woman disgraced herself. Disgraced you. 
Fooled you. Ruined you. You weren't good 
enough for her. Too vulgar. Have 3'ou forgotten ? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



loa"^ 



Quarrels ! {He makes an exclamation of disgust.) 
SuFAN. Yes. I have forgotten. She has not. 
There's a verse in the Bible, Adolf, about this. What 
is it ? Ah, but she didn't like me to quote the Bible. 
I remember that. I did pour it on her a bit Chris- 
tians are different about the Bible, Adolf. They like 
to feel it. They don't like anyone to be glib with it. 
I'm old enough to understand that. . . . How 
different we were ! 

Adolf. Well, you know her now. You know 
what her heart's like. You make me sick the way 
you keep whining. Where's the man that was in you, 
Luke? 

I'm all alone. 

Haven't I stood by you ? 

You ! 

Yes — a friend ! 

A friend 1 

Well, a servant — a servant, 



SUFAN. 

Adolf. 

SUFAN. 

Adolf. 

SUFAN. 

Adolf. 
servant. 

Sufan. 



a faithful 



You're neither. 



A friend ] A servant ! 
You're a habit. 

Adolf [in a bullying tone). Never mind. I'm all 
you've got left. And what's my reward ? Eternal 
whining about the woman who wrecked you. Don't 
talk about her any more. Do you hear ? I won't hear 
about her. I hate her. I hate her. She's a goy and 
she has brought a curse upon us. 

(The Maidservant shows in Willoughby Woods 
and Bert Pym. The passing of the years has left 
its mark on these two men.) 

Maidservant (contemptuously, reading from cards). 
Mr. W. Woods and Mr." B. Pym ! 

( She goes to the table under the booth and clears up the 
tea-things, first taking another pinch of watsrcresSf 
which she chews.) 

Pym. Well, rny boy ! {Slapping Sufan on the 



104 ADVERTISEMENT. 

hack.) Wonderful weather for the time of year, 
what ? Here we are once more — under the shade 
of the sheltering palm. {He begins to warble.) " Oh, 
my Dolores, queen of the eastern seas." 
Woods. How are you keeping, Sufan ? 

(SuFAN shakes hands with both of them.) 

Guess this is the first time I've seen a pergola on a roof. 
(Indicating booth.) 

Adolf {gravely). This is the Feast of Tabernacles, 
Mr. Woods. 

Woods. Feast of Tabernacles ? 

Sufan. Yes. Every Jew who has space for it 
must during the seven days of the festival eat his 
meals and receive his friends in a booth, if he does not 
altogether live in it. It is commanded in the Mosaic 
Law. 

Woods. I see. I see. That's why we're shown 
out on the tiles, eh ? 

Pym. I suppose it commemorates something. 

Sufan. It commemorates the w^av in which the 
Israelites lived in booths during the journey through 
the wilderness. 

Woods. Yes, yes. Very interesting. 

{Exit Maid with tray of tea-things.) 

Pym. You seem to have mugged the Bible up all 
right in your time, Sufie. 

Sufan. Well, bonnies, sit down. What can I do 
for you ? 

Pym. It's your money we want. {He strikes 
the attitude of the poster.) 

Sufan. Cigarettes, Adolf says. 

Woods. Yes, Sufan, an4 it's some notion. {He 
produces a tin box and places it on the table.) 

Sufan. What's the quality ? 

Pym. Listen, Sufan. We've done it. I bought 
the recipe off a drunken doctor for twenty-five quid 
and it's worth a million. Ever had Wind under the 



ADVERTISEMENT. 105 

heart ? Nor have I. But this cures it. Ever had 
appendicitis ? Nor have I. This prevents you from 
getting it. Ever had fullness after meals ? Well, 
this cigarette gives that the knock. 

SuFAN. What are you talking about ? A medi- 
cinal cigarette ? 

Woods. Precisely. And do you know what 
we want to call it ? Why, " Sufan's Staminal 
Cigarette." 

SuFAN [stroking his heard and not a little amused). 
I see. I see. That's where I come in. 

Woods. Just so — your name, and, of course, some 
capital. But it's a cinch. 

Pym. Listen to me, Sufie. Is your indigestion 
obstinate ? Smoke Sufan's Staminal Cigarettes. 
Why take Salts ? Smoke a Double S Cigarette before 
breakfast. Salts taste nasty. People would much 
rather smoke. And then look at the woman whose 
parents or husbands won't let 'em smoke. All they've 
got to do is to get Liver and Kidney trouble and 
get the doctor to order 'em these. 

Woods. And this drunken quack we got it off says 
they're just dandy for rheumatism and gout. 

SuFAN (amused). Not much they don't cure, is 
there, bonny ? Well, let's try them. Opium, I sup- 
pose. 

(Each one except Adolf takes a cigarette and lights it.) 

Pym (rather uneasily). Of course, you've got to 
get accustomed to them. 

Sufan (after one big draiii) which he puffs through 
his nostrils). My God ! (He stamps the cigarette out.) 

Woods. Perhaps you've got a specially bad one. 
Try another. 

SuFAN. Not for a kingdom. Phew, what an 
odour ! 

Pym. Well, my boy, they've got to be nasty. 
People don't think medicine's any good if it tastes 
nice. 



105 At^TE$l^&E^vlE>;T. 

SuFAN. What's in 'em ? Garlic ? 
Adolf. May I try one ? 

SuFAN. Certainly, Adolf. If they don't kill you, 
they won't kill anybody 

(Adolf takes a cigarette, lights it carefully and smokes 
thoughtfully. They all watch him.) 

Woods. Well, Adolf ? 

Adolf. They are soothing, very soothing. 

Pym (slapping his knee). There 3^ou are. Adolf 
shall give us the first testimonial. " Old man of 
seventy feels^. like seventeen." _ Tell you what ? 
Old Adolf shall get married. That would be a stunt, 
Woodsey. 

Woods. Sure ! 

Pym. The Staminal Cigarette Wedding. Septua- 
genarian renews his youth. 

Sufan (laughing). Oh, tell 'em it cures a broken 
neck. They'll believe you. Why die at all ? Collapse 
of the death rate. Consternation of the undertaking 
trade. The old, old game ! 

Pym. Yes, -Sufie, and how easy. Just a good 
advertising campaign 

(Adolf commences to cough violently. The other three 
roar with laughter. Adolf looks around very ner- 
vously and then makes a doleful exit through thh 
French windows, still coughing.) 

(In ths midst of their laughter enters the Maidservant 
through the French windows.) 

Maidservant. A Mr. Qualtrough has called to 
see you, sir. 

(There is silence) 

Sufan (astonished). Mr. Qualtrough ? 

Maidservant (resignedly). Mr. Ker-waltrough. 
(She puts her hand on her left hip.) 

Woods. We met the chap of that name years ago 
at vour house. 



ADVERTISEMENT. lOT 

Pym. That's right. He's a well-known novelist 
now. 

SuFAN. Qualtrough ! Why should he come ? 
{To the Maidservant.) Yes, 3^es, I'll see him. 
Ask him to wait a few moments, will you ? 

(Exit Maidservant.) 

Woods. Say the word if we're in the way, Sufan. 

SuFAN. Well, bonnies, I shouldn't have kept you 
so long, because — I'm not on. 

Woods. You're not on ! 

Pym. Why, there's a fortune in it properly 
advertised, isn't there ? 

Sufan. There may be, but I'm not on. I've 
done with that game, bonnies, done with advertise- 
ment and all its uses and abuses. Sorry to dis- 
appoint you, but I'm not' going back. 

Pym. Not going back ! You won't have to 
work. All you've got to do is to lie in a hammock 
and advertise. 

Sufan. Yes, yes, advertise ! Advertise ! No 
need to tell me how to do it. I made my money 
that way, but it's not a particularly wholesome way, 
bonnies, is it ? I knew it when I was in it and didn't 
dare think of it. Now I do think of it and I'm not 
going back. 

Woods. Not wholesome. What do you mean, 
Sufan ? It's a fair trade. 

Sufan. It's a foul trade. We all three know it, 
bonnies. And cigarettes, too ! As if that market 
was not sufficiently poisonous already. You'll hnd 
the beastly " ad." in any paper. Ten for twopence 
or threepence. Smoke 'em and let your kids smoke 
'em. Kill yourself and kill your kids. Ye gods, is 
there anything in the world so unscrupulous as the 
commercial side of a newspaper ! 

Pym. You're a nice one to talk. You took plenty 
of advantage of the press in your day. 

Sufan. 1 did. I did. And vou lured me on. 



108 ADVERTISEMENT. 

I was a swindler. I made my money by swindling, 
thanks to your encouragement. But we're not the 
greatest sinners, bonnies. It's the press which creates 
advertisers, which is principally to blame. " Adver- 
tise," " advertise," they scream at you without the 
slightest regard for the morahty of the advertiser's 
trade. They don't care a brass farthing what a man 
sells so long as he buys space. 

Woods. That's a lie. There's not a decent news- 
paper in London that would take a crook " ad." 
And not an agent of standing that would handle such 
business. 

SuFAN. Is there a paper in London that refused 
" ads." of my two swindles ? Is there a paper in 
London that would refuse " ads." of this ? [He taps 
the cigarette box.) Oh, I know the press will some- 
times keep out a bookmaker or the little quacks that 
can't spend m.uch. I know there are exceptions, 
bonny. But the big quacks can advertise as they 
like. People used to say that the war would weed 
out the charlatans and confidence gentry. But 
they guessed too soon. The war couldn't stop adver- 
tisers bossing editors. 

Pym (impudently) . Bow-wow ! . 

SuFAN. And you are the men who cultivate the 
whole rotten business, instigate it, develop it. 

Pym (mockingly). Once I was a fireman and now 
I am saved. 

SuFAN. The more it flourishes the better for you. 
You've spotted some fresh swag. You want to start 
me off again with a new skeleton key. I won't go. 

(Pym commences to whistle airily^ 

I don't blame 3;^ou, mind. You're in it and you can't 
get out of it. I was in it, and I'm out of .it. By 
Heaven, I don't go back. ' - 

Woods. No need to get fresh. Cut the talk out. 
Say yes or no to me. I'm. a business man. 

SuFAN. I've said no. Good-bye, bonnies. I 



ADVERTISEMENT. 109 

bear you no ill will. But I simply have no use now 
for anything you're interested in. {He turns to his 
violin.) There are things worth more to me than 
all the get-rich- quick dodges in the world. {He 
points upwards.) It's the Feast of the Ingathering. 
The produce has been gathered in and the people 
rejoice before the Lord for the blessings which He 
has granted to them. 

Woods {muttering). Absolutely "nobody home," 
Bert. Reckon we'd better get out of this asylum 
right away. {He moves towards the French windows.) 

Pym {following him). I'm with you. 

SuFAN {offering him his hand). We can shake 
before we split, bonnies. And don't forget your 
cigarettes. {He hands them the box.) You may be 
right about the fortune in them. I hope you make 
it, but {chuckling) between you and me and the old 
fiddle there, a cigarette that tastes Hke that will take 
some selling. 

(QuALTROUGH appears at the French windows. He 
is greyer and heavier, having quite a paternal aspect.) 

Qualtrough ! Why, bonny, good old bonny. You 
know Woods and Pym, don't you ? 

Qualtrough. Oh yes. Good afternoon. 

Woods. Good afternoon. 

{With a surly nod Woods exits R.) 

Pym {snappishly). Good afternoon ! 

{He follows Woods off.) 

SuFAN. It's great to see you again. {He puts his 
hands on Qualtrough's shoulders). And you're 
not any younger, by Jove. I hardly knew you. How's 
your wife ? I heard about the kiddie. It was in 
The Times, wasn't it ? Lucky beggar. And the 
books are going very well, I see. I suppose you're a 
rich man, bonny. Motor cars, eh ? And a viUa 
en the Riviera. What it is to be young. I'm_ young 



1 10 ADVEHTISEMENT. 

when I sit still. I'm only old when I'm walking about. 
Well, I'm really glad to see you. Any news ? Won't 
you sit down ? 

QuALTROUGH. Sufan, I come with a message 
from your wife. 

Sufan. A message from Ellen. 

QuALTROUGH [stenily). Yes. 

Sufan (deeply moved). Oh, bonny, at last, at 
last ! Has she been ill ? Why didn't she write ? 
Why- 



QuALTROUGH, Why haven't you answered her 
letters ? 

Sufan. Her letters ! Her letters, bonny ! I 
have had none, 

QuALTROUGH. You have had none ! 

Sufan. No, bonny, no. No letters. You don't 
really mean that she has written? 

QuALTROUGH. Several times. You consistently 
failed to answer, so I called on her behalf this morn- 
ing. You were out, but I saw Adolf. 

Sufan (puzzled). He said nothing to me about it. 

QuALTROUGH. He Said that you had the letters 
and burnt them. 

Sufan. What ! Burnt them ! Why should he 
say that? I— burn her letters 1 Adolf didn't say 
that. There were no letters. 

(Adolf enters from r. He is staggered at the sight 

of QuALTROUGH.) 

Adolf, we have had no letters, have we, no letters 
from Mrs. Sufan ? 

Adolf. He was here this morning. I forgot to 
teU you. 

Sufan. You forgot ! But we were talking — 
only just now. And you told Mr. Qualtrough that 
I bamt her letters. (He puts his hands to his head.) 
What does it all mean, Adolf ? 

Adolf. He's lying. There were no letters. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 1 H 

QuALTROUGH. You scoundrel ! This morning you- 
said— — 

SuFAN (interrupting). Bonny, has she had no 
letters from me ? 

■ QuALTROUGH. Not One ! That m n has been 
tricking you. I gave him a letter from her this 
morning. Have you had it ? 

Adolf. Oh, Luke, Luke, I swear—- — 

SuFAN. You gave him a letter from her ! Adolf, 
: give it to me ! 

(Adolf shrinks from him.) 

Give me the letter. [Towers over Adolf in an awful 
fury.) 

Adolf. Yes, yes — it — it got torn. It — it escaped 

my memory — I (He produces the letter and gives 

it, to SUFAN.) 

SuFAN. It has been opened ! 

QuALTROUGH. Opened ! 

SuFAN. You devil ! 

{He fdngs himself upon Adolf, who screams like a 
shot hare. For a moment the two men struggle to- 
gether.) 

QuALTROUGH, For God's sake, not that ! 

(He drags Su fan's fingers away from Adolf's throat 
and forces the big man into the chair L. of table.) 

Now (to Adolf) get away before you're killed. 

(Adolf, gasping, slinks off r.) 

Sufan (trying to regain his breath). Oh, bonny, 
bonny, bonny f I trusted him. I trusted him. I 
was mad. Of course he hated her. But I never 
thought he would have done this. The beast ! The 
crazy, fanatical beast ! 

QuALTROUGH. Be quiet for a bit and rest yourself. 

Sufan. Yes, bonny, I'm too old for that game. 
At your age I'd have killed him. 

QuALTROUGH. Read the letter. 



112 advertise:vient. 

(SuFAN does so. He is deeply moved. He rests hi$ 
head in his hands.) 

Let me get you some brandy ? 

SuFAN. No, no, bonny. Let me be. I'll be all 
right. It was the exertion. Breath, you know, 
breath. Wait till you're my age. The old Staminal 
couldn't cure that. . . . She'll come to me, bonny. 
She'U come to me. Oh, God be thanked. Bonny, 
perhaps, perhaps I should go to her. 

QuALTROUGii. She would prefer to come to you. 
Tell me, how long is it since you asked her to come 
back ? 

SuFAN. How long? I have written often, bonny 
— I don't know how many times. 

QuALTROUGH. And that devil evidently destroyed 
every letter. By Jove, you must have suffered as 
much as she. 

SuFAN. Suffered ? Yes. But I don't want any 
pity. I'm a Jew, bonny. I married a Christian 
woman. That was a mistake. It was too big a 
gamble. Both our lives were wrecked. I'm old 
now. One mustn't look back on the mistakes. When 
the stream nears the sea its early courses d )n't mat- 
ter. I want to be by her side for the rest of iri/ few 
days. She has forgiven me and you will tel] her that 
I forgave her long ago. Once I thought I would 
never forgive. But being lonely — and seeing death 
in the distance, as you do when you're lonely — makes 
a big difference. And I'm old, bonny. I'll soon be 
getting near that second childhood. Isn't it natural 
that I should want what I wanted in my first child- 
hood ? I wanted this when I was a child {he fingers the 
violin on the table) I want it — need it now. I wanted 
her when I was a child. I need her now. Tell her 
it all didn't happen. That's it. Nothing of it hap- 
pened. She will like this little house. 

QuALTROUGH. Good-bye, Sufan. She wiU come 
to you. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 113 

SuFAN. Soon"? 

QuALTROUGH. Sooii, old friend, very soon. (He 
goes up steps to French windows.) 

SuFAN (rising). That's right. Ask her to come 
to me here. It's the autumn, bonny. Tell her that 
we must prepare for the winter. Tell her that the 
trees have the last colour of all. My hair has the 
last colour of all. See it. (He chuckles rather patheti- 
cally.) Sufan's Scalp Cream no good for that, bonny. 
But you know what to tell her, you know. 

(QuALTROUGH goes quietly off R. through the French 

windows.) 

(x\dolf hursts in upon him from r. and kneels to him.} 

Adolf. Oh, Luke, Luke, forgive me. Forgive 
me ! Forty years Fve served you. (He is almost 
gibbering with hysteria.) Forty years ! 

SuFAN {in reverie). "Your wife, Ellen." 

Adolf. You can't turn me out, Luke. I've been 
a good servant. I helped you in the beginning. I 
haven't any money saved, not a penny, Luke. Not 
a penny. I'll starve. I'll starve. You can't drive 
me into the streets after forty years. I'm too old, 
Luke. Have mercy on me, have mercy on me. I'm 
poor and old, Luke, poor and old. 

SuFAN (who has been smiling over his letter). Get 
away ! Get away ! 

Adolf. Luke, Luke, but 

SuFAN (rising and shouting angrily) . Get away ! 
No, stop. (He picks up his violin and strokes it. 
Then he takes the bow.) Go and play the piano. 

Adolf. The piano, sir! 

Sufan. Yes, yon devil ! You can't live much 
longer. That's one consolatioru Go and play the 
piano. The Rubinstein Romance. Get along with 
you. 

Adolf (slinking aze'ay towards the French windows). 

113 H 



lU ADVERTISEMENT. 

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll — yes, sir. Oh thank 
you, sir. Yes, sir. Of course, sir, yes, sir. 

{Exit Adolf.) 

(SuFAN sits. He plucks at his strings, smiling happily. 
The piano music is heard, played falteringly. Sufan 
begins to play. Now at the French windows Mrs. 
Sufan appears. She looks gray and old and fragile. 
She comes towards her husband and watches him as 
he plays. Sufan looks up and stops playing.) 

Sufan [rising). Ellen ! 

(The piano music goes on.) 

• Mrs. Sufan (wonder ingly in a frail voice). Luke, 
is it really you ? 

Sufan. How old you look ! How old you look ! 

Mrs. Sufan. And you, Luke. How untidy you've 
become. 

(Sufan looks down on his disordered dress and smiles 
shamefacedly .) 

Sufan. Have I, EHen ? (She goes to him and ties 
his necktie in a bow.) 

Curtain. 



65 



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ADVERTISEMENT 

THE DAILY TELEGRAPH : 

We may, as the audience did, welcome a play of such 
high ambition and so much interest. 

THE TIMES : 

You are thrilled by the passionate vigour. 
THE DAILY MAIL : 

Rich in topical fun and not wanting in dramatic force. 
It was admirably acted and received with great favour. 

THE DAILY CHRONICLE : 

The author has written a play which has the double 
quality of being quite fresh and exciting. 

THE NEWS OF THE WORLD : 

The striking individuality of the characters, the freshness, 
the snap, and the irresistible humour of the whole thing 
held the house spellbound. 

THE SUNDAY PICTORIAL : 

In many respects this is really a great play. 
THE WEEKLY DESPATCH : 

Stands out apart from and above all the plays of the 
whole season. A play of real people and real moti\es. 

THE OBSERVER : 

The play is larger in conception than "The New Sin " 
and better all round than " Love — and What Then ? " 

THE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE : 

Able, interesting and challenging and marking an in- 
teresting step and development of one of our most prom- 
ising dramatists. — Mr. E. F. Spence. 

THE STAR : 

It is a satiric character study of considerable originality 
and insight. — Mr. William Archer. 

THE PALL MALL GAZETTE : 

A serious attem_pt to depict life and character. 

YORKSHIRE POST : 

Mr. Hastings is found in his best vein — as trenchant as 
we found him in " The New Sin." 







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